FREDERICK  UPHAM  ADAMS 


EXTRACTS  FROM  REVIEWS  OF 

"The  Kidnapped  Millionaires' 

By  FREDERICK  UPHAM  ADAMS 


"  Mr.  Adams  is  a  remarkable  genius,  and  whatever  he  writes  is 
sure  to  command  attention  and  a  wide  reading. ' ' — Baltimore  Sun. 

"'The  Kidnapped  Millionaires'  has  an  imaginative  dash 
which  lends  the  color  of  We  to  ingeniously  contrived  situa- 
tions.''—^^ Outlook. 

"'The  Kidnapped  Millionaires'  is  the  remarkable  American 
novel  of  the  year.  It  is  one  of  the  most  daring  and  all-absorb- 
ing conceptions  ever  put  into  fiction." — National  Magazine. 

"'The  Kidnapped  Millionaires'  is  a  brilliant  conception 
cleverly  executed." — The  Dial. 

"The  man  who  can  write  as  good  a  story  as  'The  Kidnapped 
Millionaires'  will  be  heard  from  again.  It  is  so  original  and 
entertaining  that  we  hail  Mr.  Adams  as  a  benefactor  of  the 
human  race." — Philadelphia  Press. 

"There  isn't  a  dull  page  in  'The  Kidnapped  Millionaires.'" 
— Boston  Transcript. 

"  'The  Kidnapped  Millionaires'  clears  the  decks  of  all  recent 
works  of  fiction  by  its  clever  ingenuity  and  its  entrancing  quali- 
ties. It  is  a  great  piece  of  work." — Louisville  Courier- Journal. 

"'If  anyone  asks  us  which  of  the  five  hundred  novels  recently 
published  is  the  best,  we  shall  unhesitatingly  recommend  'The 
Kidnapped  Millionaires.'" — Brooklyn  Eagle. 

"For  sheer  audacity  of  plot,  character  and  incident,  'The 
Kidnapped  Millionaires'  is  so  notable  as  to  deserve  special 
mention." — St.  Louis  Republican. 

Extract  from  a  letter  of  Graver  Cleveland  to  Mr.  Adams  : 
"  I  have  read  'The  Kidnapped  Millionaires'  with  much  in- 
terest, and  I  was  particularly  struck  with  its  novel  and  effective 
treatment  of  certain  very  serious  economic  and  social  questions." 


I2mo,  Cloth  bound,  gilt  top,  stamped  in  gold,  $1.50 
G.  W.  DILLINGHAM  CO.,  Publishers,  NEW  YORK 


"  I  know  something  of  your  history,  young  man." 

Frontispiece.  Page  118. 


THE 


Bottom  of  the  Well 


BY 

FREDERICK  UPHAM  ADAMS 

AUTHOR  or  "JOHN    BURT,"   "THK   KIDNAPPED   MILLIONAIRES," 
"JOHN  HENRY  SMITH,"   rrc. 


Illustrations  by 
ALEX.   O.  LEVY 


G.  W.  DILLINGHAM   COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


COPYRIGHT,  1906,  BY 
G.  W.  DILLINGHAM  COMPANY 

Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  London 

All  rights  reserved 
(Issued  May, 


THE  BOTTOM 
OF  THE  WELL 


DEDICATED  TO    MY  MOTHER 


P2PQ1 47 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PACK 

I.  CAPTURE  OP  THE  FROLIC 7 

II.  A  WAIF  OP  THE  SEA 17 

III.  STANLEY  DEANE — GENTLEMAN 35 

IV.  THE  MASTER  OF  THE  MILLS 55 

V.  THE  RIOT       . 67 

VI.  THE  WELL 77 

VII.  A  FEW  HIDDEN  THREADS 89 

VIII.  THE  GIFT  OP  A  ROSE 103 

IX.  A  DECLARATION  OP  WAR 115 

X.  CAPTAIN  STARK  DROPS  INTO  THE  WELL     ....   128 

XI.  A  STRANGE  MEETING 142 

XII.  THE  CONSPIRATORS         .     , 153 

XIII.  THE  WARNING 166 

XIV.  HERR  JOHANN  SCHLIERMACKER 181 

XV.  THE  NIGHT  OP  THE  STORM 198 

XVI.  THE  DYNAMITERS 215 

XVII.  THE  TRAGEDY 223 

XVIII.  IN  THE  RUINS  OP  THE  LABORATORY 234 

XIX.  BEHIND  THE  BARS 246 

XX.  THE  DRAG-NET \     ...  255 

XXI.  THE  LIFTED  VEIL 262 

XXII.  THE  GREAT  TRIAL 272 

XXIII.  A  SENSATION  IN  COURT 287 

XXIV.  JAKE  STARK 's  CONFESSION 301 

XXV.  THE  VERDICT! 318 

XXVI.  THE  SECRET  OF  THE  LABORATORY 326 

XXVII.  A  FLASH  OF  LIGHT  .  .  340 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAOX 

"  I  know  something  of  your  history,  young  man  "     Frontispiece  118 

"Take  a  good  look  at  the  Frolic,  my  boy" 20 

"Let  me  help  you  out.     How  much  do  you  need  ?"        .     .     .  145 
"I  have  come  to  tell  you  I  know  that  you  are  innocent"      .     .  264 


The  Bottom  of  the  Well 


CHAPTER   I 

CAPTURE  OF  THE  FROLIC 

As  the  boom  of  the  sunset  gun  rolled  across  the  bay, 
the  English  revenue  cutter  Alexander  dragged  the 
flukes  of  her  anchor  clear  of  the  water,  drifted  with  the 
sluggish  tide  for  a  moment  and  then  pointed  west  into 
the  Caribbean  from  the  harbor  of  Savanna-la-Mar. 
Before  midnight  she  had  rounded  the  westerly  point  of 
the  island  of  Jamaica.  So  calm  was  the  night  that  the 
smoke  hung  in  a  long  and  undulating  pennant  trailing 
above  the  phosphorescence  which  gleamed  in  the  wake. 
The  course  was  well  off  shore,  and  only  a  sailor  familiar 
with  the  coast  would  have  detected  the  faint  line  which 
marked  the  crest  of  the  hills. 

Captain  Benson  came  on  deck  at  two  o'clock  and 
listened  to  the  report  made  by  Lieutenant  Rawlins.  The 
ship  was  then  standing  in  near  shore  and  making  half 
speed.  She  displayed  no  lights,  and  the  silence  of  the 
bay,  now  entered,  was  unbroken  save  for  the  subdued 
thrust  of  the  screw  and  the  drone  of  a  leadsman.  At  a 
signal  from  Captain  Benson  the  engines  stopped. 


8  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

"  Bring  the  Cuban  on  deck,"  he  ordered,  and  a  minute 
later  a  petty  officer  came  forward  with  a  man  clad  in 
the  ordinary  garb  of  a  fisherman.  He  was  dark  of  com- 
plexion and  short  and  stocky  of  build.  The  Cuban  re- 
moved his  cap  and  saluted  awkwardly. 

"  They  call  you  '  Hungry  Joe/  do  they  not  ?  "  asked 
Captain  Benson,  addressing  the  man  in  Spanish. 

"  That  is  not  my  name,"  was  the  sullen  response. 
"  My  name  is  Joseph " 

"  Never  mind  what  your  name  is,"  interrupted  the 
commander  of  the  Alexander.  "  If  you  lead  us  to 
the  smuggler  you  will  get  your  reward.  Is  this  the 
place?  Look  sharp  and  make  no  mistake." 

"  This  is  the  place,"  returned  the  Cuban  without  hesi- 
tation. "  I  know  every  reef  and  sand-bar  between  Black 
River  and  Montego  Bay." 

"  Where  is  the  smuggler  ?  " 

"  In  the  lagoon  beyond,  straight  in  line  with  that 
palm,"  was  the  reply  as  he  pointed  to  the  east.  "  It  is 
not  more  than  two  miles  as  the  crow  flies,  but  it  means 
a  five-mile  row.  You  must  make  no  more  noise  than  a 
seal;  that  swine  of  a  captain  of  the  Frolic  has  the 
eyes  and  ears  of  a  dog." 

Captain  Benson  called  his  lieutenant  aside. 

"  Take  the  Cuban  in  your  boat  and  keep  an  eye  on 
him,"  he  directed.  "  He  has  a  grudge  against  the  cap- 
tain of  this  smuggler  and  would  knife  him  if  he  had  a 
chance.  Do  not  shoot  unless  absolutely  necessary,  but 
be  sure  and  get  Jake  Stark.  He  has  caused  us  more 


CAPTURE   OF   THE   FROLIC  9 

trouble  than  any  smuggler  in  the  Caribbean,  but  if  he  is 
in  that  lagoon,  you  should  get  him  this  time." 

Two  boats,  manned  by  armed  marines,  glided  past  the 
bow  of  the  revenue  cutter  and  were  swallowed  in  the 
shadows  which  blended  the  sea  with  the  enclosing  hills. 
The  Cuban  held  the  tiller  of  the  leading  boat  and  con- 
fidently steered  a  course  past  submerged  rocks  and 
through  narrow  inlets.  At  last  they  entered  a  sea  lake 
by  a  passage  so  cramped  that  only  smaller  craft  could 
enter  it  even  under  skilled  pilotage.  The  men  pulled 
silently  at  their  oars  until  they  neared  a  cape. 

"  She's  anchored  around  that  point,"  the  Cuban  said 
to  Lieutenant  Rawlins,  a  harsh  note  in  his  voice. 

The  officer  took  the  tiller,  the  men  fell  to  their  oars, 
and  as  they  circled  the  wooded  spit  of  sand  there  came 
into  view  the  spars  and  hull  of  a  small  schooner  an- 
chored not  a  hundred  yards  from  shore.  Against  the 
star-studded  sky  her  rigging  seemed  drawn  in  sharp 
black  lines,  and  not  a  gleam  of  light  relieved  the  dark 
contour  of  her  hull.  No  sentinel  paced  her  deck,  and 
she  lay  like  a  black  ghost  on  the  dark  and  motionless 
bosom  of  the  lagoon.  Though  she  seemed  deserted,  there 
was  an  indefinable  something  which  told  that  she  shel- 
tered a  crew. 

The  attacking  boats  made  for  the  opposite  sides  of 
the  smuggler  schooner,  cutting  swiftly  and  silently 
through  the  water.  Not  until  Lieutenant  Eawlins'  yawl 
rasped  against  her  hull  was  an  alarm  sounded  from  the 
deck. 


io  THE   BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

A  slumbering  watchman  awoke  to  see  the  gleam  of 
rifle  barrels  in  the  hands  of  blue-jackets  who  swarmed 
over  the  sides  of  the  craft.  He  rubbed  his  eyes  to  make 
sure  that  the  stern  figures  advancing  toward  him  were 
not  figments  of  his  drowsy  fancy,  and  then  vented  his 
fright  in  a  yell  which  awoke  the  night  birds.  It  ceased 
only  when  two  marines  clutched  him  by  the  throat  and 
bore  him  to  the  deck. 

The  door  of  the  cabin  swung  back  and  a  fantastic 
figure  bounded  out.  On  its  head  was  an  old-fashioned 
night-cap  partially  covering  a  mass  of  coal  black  hair. 
A  white  gown  unbuttoned  at  the  throat  served  to  accen- 
tuate the  blackness  of  a  shaggy  beard  and  a  hairy  chest. 
In  each  hand  was  flourished  a  pistol,  but  his  garb  and 
general  air  of  dismayed  surprise  produced  an  effect 
which  tempted  laughter  rather  than  fear. 

"That's  him!  That's  Jake  Stark!"  shrieked  the 
Cuban,  dancing  up  and  down  behind  the  marines  whose 
guns  were  levelled  at  the  white-robed  figure.  "  Shoot 
him !  Shoot  him !  Shoot  ze  damn  dog !  " 

There  was  slight  trace  of  fear  on  the  face  of  the  man 
thus  indicated.  His  blue  eyes  lost  their  twinkle  of 
surprise  and  were  clouded  with  disgust  as  he  looked  be- 
yond the  quarter  circle  of  his  captors  to  the  crouching 
figure  of  the  Cuban.  He  slowly  lowered  the  pistols  and 
then  stood  stock-still  as  if  posing  for  a  photograph. 

"  Cum  back,  did  ye,  Hungry  Joe  ?  "  he  drawled  with 
a  twang  which  told  unmistakably  of  New  England  an- 
cestry. "  Cum  back  an'  brought  all  these  fine  blue  boys 


CAPTURE    OF   THE   FROLIC  n 

erlong  with  ye,  didn't  ye  ?  Wai,  I  ain't  er  bit  glad  ter 
see  none  on  ye,  an'  I  don't  mind  sayin'  so !  Lieutenant, 
just  tell  them  thar  men  of  yours  ter  point  them  guns 
tother  way,  because  I  shorly  knows  too  much  ter  start 
trouble  under  these  distressin'  car-cumstances.  What 
dew  ye  want  me  ter  dew,  Lieutenant  ? " 

"  Lay  down  those  pistols  and  step  forward,"  ordered 
Rawlins.  "  You  and  your  crew  are  under  arrest 
charged  with  smuggling." 

"  I  sorter  suspected  as  much,"  grinned  Stark,  placing 
the  pistols  on  the  deck,  laying  one  each  side  of  him. 
As  he  did  so  he  glanced  suspiciously  at  the  Cuban. 

A  boy  of  perhaps  twelve  years  had  stolen  from  the 
cabin  and  stood  back  of  Stark  during  these  brief  hap- 
penings. He  was  clad  in  a  blue  undergarment,  and 
brown  curls  fell  to  his  shoulders.  With  wide-opened 
eyes  he  had  listened,  gazing  first  at  Rawlins  and  then 
at  the  crouching  form  of  the  Cuban.  He  saw  that  the 
latter  had  a  knife  in  his  hands,  and  an  instant  later 
Jake  Stark  made  the  same  discovery. 

"  Don't  let  that  ornary  Hungry  Joe  come  pesterin' 
round  me  with  that  thar  knife,  or  I'll " 

The  threat  was  not  finished.  Crazed  with  rage  and 
longing  for  a  safe  revenge,  the  Cuban  had  pushed 
through  the  line  of  marines  and  with  an  oath  rushed  at 
Stark,  who  hesitated  a  moment  and  then  stepped  back, 
almost  stumbling  over  the  boy.  Like  a  flash  the  young- 
ster leaped  for  the  nearest  pistol. 

"Don't  run,   dad;   I'll  fix  Hungry  Joe!"  he  ex- 


12  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

claimed,  cocking  the  weapon  and  firing  without  appar- 
ent aim. 

With  a  moan  like  that  of  a  woman,  the  Cuban 
sprawled  to  the  deck,  a  long  knife  slipping  from  his 
hand.  The  marines  had  lowered  their  muskets,  but  at 
the  shot  several  of  them,  without  waiting  for  a  com- 
mand, covered  the  little  figure  in  blue.  Stark  made  a 
dash  for  the  lad,  grabbed  him  in  his  arms  and  turned 
his  back  to  the  levelled  guns. 

"  Don't  shoot !  "  he  cried  in  a  voice  vibrant  with  fear 
and  anguish.  He  extended  the  palm  of  his  left  hand 
as  if  to  ward  off  the  threatened  shower  of  bullets. 
"  Don't  shoot,  men !  He's  only  a  boy — an'  he  didn't 
know  what  he  was  doin' !  " 

As  if  by  instinct  he  dropped  to  the  deck,  bearing  the 
boy  beneath  him,  so  as  more  fully  to  offer  his  body  as 
a  shield  for  the  one  he  loved.  This  intended  sacrifice 
doubtless  saved  their  lives,  the  shots  flying  over  their 
heads.  Lieutenant  Rawlins  ordered  his  men  to  cease 
firing,  and  dashed  in  front  of  the  prostrate  figures. 

"  I'll  shoot  the  next  man  who  fires  without  orders !  " 
he  shouted. 

The  captain  of  the  smuggler  struggled  to  his  feet,  still 
holding  fast  to  the  boy.  His  homely  face  lighted  when 
a  glance  showed  that  the  lad  was  uninjured.  He  ran 
his  rough  hands  lovingly  through  the  curly  locks,  and 
patted  the  boy  on  the  back.  Then  he  glanced  quickly 
at  the  Cuban,  noted  that  he  had  regained  consciousness, 
and  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief. 


CAPTURE    OF   THE   FROLIC  13 

"  You  shouldn't  er  done  it,  Mascot,  but  you're  all 
right  just  ther  same,"  he  said,  taking  the  pistol  from  the 
boy  and  handing  it  to  Rawlins.  "  This  is  not  exactly 
your  sort  of  a  game,  Mascot,  an'  you  keep  out  of  it,  but 
you  didn't  make  no  mistake  when  you  plugged  that 
no-account  Hungry  Joe.  Don't  reckon  ye  killed  him, 
though.  It  shorly  war  ordained  that  he'll  live  tew  be 
hanged." 

"  Order  your  men  on  deck,  Stark,"  commanded  Lieu- 
tenant Eawlins.  "  Those  who  show  fight  or  hold  back 
will  take  the  consequences.  Baldwin,  take  charge  of 
this  lad." 

"  On  deck,  Long  Bill,  and  the  rest  on  ye  in  there !  " 
roared  Stark,  turning  to  the  doorway  of  the  cabin. 
"  The  game's  up !  Come  out,  Rat  Trap,  an'  the  whole 
boodle  of  ye !  Drop  yer  guns  an'  come  er  running,  an' 
no  monkey  business  erbout  it !  We're  pinched,  an'  that's 
all  there  is  tew  it !  All  hands  on  deck !  All  hands  on 
deck!" 

The  first  to  respond  to  this  command  was  an  elon- 
gated and  angular  seaman  whose  broad  shoulders  were 
stooped  as  if  from  years  spent  in  passing  through  doors 
of  insufficient  height  and  in  sleeping  in  bunks  ill-adapted 
to  his  long  trunk  and  longer  legs.  His  nose  was  long 
and  pointed,  the  chin  aggressive  but  well-formed,  the 
light  blue  eyes  deep-set  beneath  heavy  eyebrows,  and  his 
hair  was  of  a  reddish  tinge.  The  suggestion  of  cruelty 
in  the  thin  lips  vanished  when  Long  Bill  smiled  and 


i4  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

displayed  a  perfect  set  of  white  and  even  teeth,  but  it 
was  seldom  that  the  melancholy  features  thus  relaxed. 

Long  Bill  saluted  Lieutenant  Rawlins  and  then 
turned  to  Jake  Stark. 

"  Anybody  hurt,  Captain  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Nobody  but  Hungry  Joe,  an'  he  don't  count,"  said 
Stark.  "  Better  keep  quiet,  Bill,"  he  added,  with  a 
meaning  glance  at  his  first  mate.  "  Of  course  we're 
innocent,  this  bein'  all  er  mistake,  as  ye  well  know,  but 
at  the  same  time  the  least  said  the  soonest  mended,  as 
old  King  Solomon  onct  said." 

Ten  men  followed  Long  Bill.  Some  of  them  chat- 
tered with  fear,  others  laughed  to  keep  up  their  courage, 
and  yet  others  were  stolid  and  sullen.  They  were  a 
mixed  lot  physically  and  racially,  but  there  was  nothing 
to  indicate  that  they  were  more  desperate  than  the  crew 
of  the  average  trading  schooner. 

In  the  meantime  the  surgeon  had  attended  to  the 
wounded  Cuban.  Mascot's  pistol  shot  had  ploughed  a 
furrow  along  his  scalp,  but  save  for  shock  and  loss  of 
blood  the  informer  was  as  good  as  ever,  and  even  more 
vindictive. 

"  A  good  line  shot,  Mascot,"  Stark  remarked,  when 
the  light  of  a  lantern  revealed  the  course  of  the  bullet. 
"  A  good  line  shot,  but  a  smitch  too  high.  Them  light 
guns  always  kick  up  a  little,  but  it's  just  as  well,  an' 
perhaps  a  leetle  better." 

"  Call  off  your"  men,  Stark,"  ordered  Rawlins,  when 
the  crew  of  the  Frolic  had  been  lined  up  in  front  of 


CAPTURE    OF   THE   FROLIC  15 

the  marines.  "  Is  this  all  of  them  ?  You  know  how 
many  you  have  and  who  they  are.  Call  them  off." 

Stark  ran  his  eye  along  the  line,  calling  each  man  by 
name  and  counting  them  several  times.  He  looked 
narrowly  at  Long  Bill  as  if  for  advice,  but  that  person's 
face  was  expressionless. 

"  I  reckon  that's  all  of  them,  Lieutenant,"  he  said 
finally.  "  This  here  is  mostly  a  new  crew,  but,  if  I 
rightly  remembers,  all  on  'em  is  in  front  of  ye,  an'  if 
they'll  take  my  advice  they'll  dew  anything  you  says." 

"  Where's  Rat  Trap  ?  Where's  Rat  Trap  ?  "  feebly 
demanded  the  Cuban  through  the  bandages  in  which  his 
head  was  swathed.  He  was  propped  up  against  the  port 
bulwarks,  and  his  blood-stained  face  looked  ghastly  in 
the  flickering  light  of  the  lanterns. 

"  Right  ye  are  for  onct,  Hungry  Joe,"  admitted  Stark 
with  much  apparent  frankness,  after  again  looking  along 
the  straggling  line  of  his  crew.  "  These  events  has 
come  so  thick  an'  fast,  Lieutenant,  that  I'd  plumb  lost 
track  of  Rat  Trap,  but  blamed  if  I  know  whar  he  is, 
unless  he's  asleep  down  below.  Rat  Trap  certainly  is 
the  most  patient  and  hard-working  sleeper  ever  I 
knowed.  Nothing  much  disturbs  him  but  his  own 
snorin'.  You'll  likely  find  him  in  his  bunk,  for'ard." 

But  the  searching  party  which  ransacked  every  sec- 
tion of  the  schooner  found  no  trace  of  "  Rat  Trap,"  the 
abbreviated  title  of  a  New  York  wharf  thief  who  claimed 
the  name  of  Ratcliffe  Trappe,  and  who  had  been  on  the 
Frolic  for  years.  His  disappearance  was  as  much  of 


16  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

a  mystery  to  Stark  as  to  Lieutenant  Rawlins,  but  the 
former  argued  it  a  good  omen  that  one  of  his  crew  had 
escaped.  Day  was  breaking  when  the  search  for  the 
missing  smuggler  was  abandoned. 


CHAPTER   H 

A  WAIF  OF  THE  SEA 

THE  captives  were  granted  permission  to  collect  and 
take  with  them  their  personal  belongings.  During  the 
stirring  events  following  the  wounding  of  Hungry  Joe, 
the  lad  had  said  no  word,  but  had  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on. 
the  grotesque  figure  of  Jake  Stark.  When  the  order 
was  given  to  make  ready  to  quit  the  schooner,  the  boy 
darted  from  the  side  of  the  marine  in  charge  of  him  and 
ran  to  his  father. 

"  Are  they  going  to  shoot  us,  dad  ?  "  he  asked  calmly, 
as  if  the  matter  were  of  no  vast  moment. 

"Don't  you  worry  about  that,  Mascot,"  smiled  the 
smuggler  captain,  resting  his  hand  on  the  boy's  shoulder. 
"  They're  goin'  tew  take  us  tew  their  ship,  Mascot,  the 
finest  ship  you  ever  saw  in  your  life.  Keep  a  stiff 
upper  lip,  and  everything  will  come  out  all  right.  Trust 
yer  dad  fer  that." 

"  Is  this  what  you  call  an  important  occasion,  dad  ?  " 
he  asked.  Jake  Stark  was  puzzled. 

"  I  reckon  it  is,"  he  said  after  a  moment's  pause.  "  I 
reckon  it's  a  mighty  important  occasion  for  some  on  us ; 
but  why  do  ye  ask,  Mascot  ?  " 


i8  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

"Because  you  said  I  might  wear  those  new  clothes 
you  brought  back  the  last  time  you  went  to  Santiago, 
whenever  we  had  an  important  occasion,"  eagerly  ex- 
plained the  boy. 

"  So  I  did,  so  I  did,"  admitted  Stark,  a  tender  smile 
lighting  his  rugged  features.  "  Put  'em  on,  Mascot ;  I 
want  tew  see  how  ye  look  in  them." 

Marine  Baldwin  interrupted  the  conversation  at  this 
point,  and  Mascot  led  the  way  to  his  room,  a  most  won- 
derful room,  the  only  home  he  could  remember  or  con- 
jure in  his  fancy.  For  all  he  knew  he  had  been  born 
within  those  narrow  walls,  and  now  he  was  leaving  them, 
perhaps  forever.  Mascot  dimly  realised  this  at  the 
time,  and  whatever  of  sorrow  he  felt  was  tempered  by 
the  anticipation  of  new  sights  and  faces.  He  was  not 
to  be  shot;  his  father  had  said  so,  and  that  settled  it. 
He  was  to  go  on  board  a  real  warship,  one  commanded 
by  real  officers  who  wore  brilliant  uniforms,  and  manned 
by  men  who  marched  and  drilled. 

Mascot  had  seen  several  war  vessels  from  afar.  Safely 
hidden  in  landlocked  lagoons  he  had  watched  these 
beautiful  ships,  had  watched  the  dense  clouds  of  smoke 
billowing  from  their  stacks,  had  caught  the  glimpse  of 
polished  brass,  and  imagined  the  gleam  of  buttons  or 
of  epaulets.  He  knew  that  warships  were  something 
to  be  dreaded,  as  the  man-eating  sharks  were  to  be 
feared,  but,  like  the  sharks,  they  represented  grace  and 
power.  Now  that  he  had  met  the  handsome  Lieutenant 
Rawlins  face  to  face  and  still  lived,  now  that  he  had 


A   WAIF   OF   THE   SEA  19 

observed  that  Marine  Baldwin  was  good-natured  and 
anxious  to  be  friendly,  Mascot  lost  his  fear. 

It  was  a  strange  room,  this  home  of  the  sea  waif. 
The  walls  were  covered  with  models  and  pictures  of 
boats  and  ships,  while  on  shelves  there  were  a  dozen  or 
more  toy  schooners  carved  and  rigged  by  Jake  Stark, 
Long  Bill  and  other  members  of  the  crew  of  the 
Frolic. 

In  contrast  with  these  marine  playthings  was  a  collec- 
tion of  toys,  highly  prized  by  Mascot  because  they 
represented  things  of  which  he  had  only  a  vague  con- 
ception. There  were  windmills,  tops,  bows  and  arrows 
and  other  things  dear  to  the  heart  of  the  normal  boy, 
but  Mascot  was  little  skilled  in  their  use.  These  and 
the  toy  ships  he  must  leave  behind,  but  he  would  not 
abandon  the  small  automatic  locomotive,  the  latest  gift 
from  Jake  Stark.  This  he  detached  from  the  red  bag- 
gage car,  wrapped  it  carefully  in  a  red  handkerchief 
and  placed  it  in  his  satchel. 

The  boy  carefully  examined  his  wardrobe.  He  had 
several  suits,  some  of  which  were  new  and  fine  in  qual- 
ity. Baldwin  helped  him  to  pack  these  in  the  satchel, 
Mascot  in  the  meantime  proceeding  to  array  himself  in 
the  one  which  his  father  had  reserved  for  "  an  important 
occasion."  It  was  made  in  imitation  of  the  full  dress 
uniform  of  the  captain  of  an  American  man-of-war, 
having  trousers  and  jacket  resplendent  in  gold  braid 
and  brass  buttons,  and  a  band  on  the  cap  on  which  were 
the  gold  letters  of  the  word  "  CAPTAIN." 


20  THE   BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

The  sun  had  crawled  above  the  palm-trees  and  was 
burning  away  the  banks  of  fog  before  the  heavily  laden 
boats  cast  away  from  the  Frolic.  Mascot  sat  by  the 
side  of  Jake  Stark  in  Lieutenant  Rawlins'  boat. 

"  Take  a  good  look  at  the  Frolic,  my  boy,"  said 
the  captain  of  the  trim  smuggler  craft.  "  No  better 
boat  ever  rode  out  a  hurricane,  an'  I  kinder  hates  ter 
leave  her,  Mascot,  I  do,  that's  er  fact." 

His  voice  betrayed  his  feelings,  but  a  moment  later 
he  assumed  a  careless,  light-hearted  air  which  put  the 
boy  at  his  ease. 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Captain !  "  he  exclaimed,  address- 
ing Mascot  and  making  as  profound  a  salute  as  his  man- 
acled hands  and  legs  would  permit,  "  I  tell  you  what, 
Captain,  but  you're  lookin'  right  swell  this  mornin'. 
We're  headed  nor'-nor'-west,  Captain.  Any  orders  ?  " 

"  Keep  her  off  a  point !  "  solemnly  ordered  the  boy, 
after  taking  a  swift  glance  ahead. 

"  Aye,  aye,  sir !  "  exclaimed  Stark,  making  a  turn  of 
an  imaginary  wheel. 

Lieutenant  Rawlins  studied  the  ill-assorted  pair  with 
interest.  The  captain  of  the  smuggler  was  a  man  who 
had  not  yet  reached  the  full  prime  of  life,  the  officer 
estimating  his  age  at  thirty-five.  His  broad  shoulders, 
massive  chest  and  long  arms  told  of  great  strength,  and 
his  coarse  features  had  a  unity  which  lent  them  a  certain 
attractiveness.  His  small  blue  eyes  held  a  shrewd 
twinkle,  the  nose  was  broad  and  slightly  tilted,  the 
mouth  large  and  full-lipped  with  irregular  teeth  stained 


"  Take  a  good  look  at  the  Frolic,  my  boy." 


Page  zo. 


A   WAIF   OF    THE   SEA  21 

with  tobacco  juice.  The  dark  hair  and  darker  beard 
were  crisp  and  curly  from  years  of  exposure  to  a  tropical 
sun,  and  close  scrutiny  showed  that  the  upper  part  of 
the  left  ear  was  missing.  His  soiled  and  faded  suit  of 
blue  bore  no  mark  to  indicate  that  he  held  higher  rank 
than  his  associates,  but  a  nod  of  his  head  was  law  to 
every  man  who  served  under  him  on  the  decks  of  the 
Frolic. 

"  Reach  in  my  pocket,  Mascot,  an'  get  my  pipe  an' 
fill  it  for  me  like  a  good  lad,"  he  said,  after  making 
several  ineffectual  efforts  with  his  manacled  arms. 
"  These  here  bracelets  are  more  ornamental  than  useful, 
as  old  King  Soloman  onct  said,  but  it's  all  in  a  lifetime. 
The  tobaccy  is  in  my  port  stern  pocket.  There  we  have 
it !  Don't  pack  it  in  too  tight,  Mascot." 

The  boy  struck  a  match.  Stark  puffed  vigorously 
and  lounged  back  in  his  seat  with  an  air  which  might 
have  implied  that  an  arrest  for  smuggling  and  the  con- 
fiscation of  his  vessel  were  events  of  which  to  make  a 
gala  day. 

"  There's  the  craft  what's  goin'  tew  take  us  tew 
Kingston,"  he  observed  as  they  emerged  from  the  lagoon 
and  came  in  full  view  of  the  Alexander.  "  She's  trim 
as  a  yacht,  an'  handsome  as  a  woman  with  a  new  white 
gown  an'  roses  in  her  hair." 

The  boy  sprang  to  his  feet  and  gazed  intently  at  the 
clean-lined  revenue  cutter.  She  lay  broad  on,  her  white 
hull  and  mahogany  cabins  reflecting  the  glare  of  the 
morning  sun,  her  metal  work  gleaming  like  lambent 


22  THE   BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

flames  and  her  striped  awnings  fluttering  gently  as  the 
breeze  wafted  in  from  the  Caribbean. 

"  Isn't  she  a  dandy,  dad  ?  "  exclaimed  Mascot.  "  She 
just  beats  all  the  pictures  of  boats,  don't  she  ?  " 

"  She's  all  right — in  her  place,"  grinned  Stark.  For 
a  moment  the  two  were  silent,  but  as  they  listened  to  the 
regular  rasp  of  the  oars  each  was  under  the  spell  of  far 
different  thoughts.  He  drew  the  boy  nearer  to  him. 

"  It  may  be  some  time  before  I'll  see  you  again  after 
we  get  on  that  ship,"  he  whispered.  "  It's  noways  likely 
they'll  lock  you  up  with  Long  Bill  an'  me  an'  the  rest 
of  us  when  we  get  to  Kingston,  an'  there's  no  tellin' 
how  long  it  will  take  us  ter  get  out  of  this  here  scrape. 
But  they  wont  do  nothin'  ter  you,  Mascot,  an'  when  we 
prove  that  we  are  innocent  I'll  come  an'  get  you.  Just 
keep  a  stiff  upper  lip,  an'  everything  will  come  out  all 
right  in  the  washin',  as  old  King  Soloman  onct  said." 

"  I'm  going  where  you  and  Long  Bill  go,"  declared 
the  boy,  taking  his  eyes  from  the  Alexander  and  clutch- 
ing at  the  manacles  which  clasped  his  father's  wrists. 
"  If  they  lock  you  up,  dad,  they'll  have  to  lock  me  up 
with  you." 

"  Wai,  I  don't  just  know  erbout  that,  Mascot  You 
an'  I  ain't  got  so  much  tew  say  erbout  what  we're  goin' 
ter  dew  as  we  had  yesterday.  If  they  lock  me  up  it  is 
more'n  likely  they'll  let  you  come  tew  see  me  onct  in  a 
while,  an'  it  won't  be  long  before  we're  all  back  on  the 
deck  of  the  Frolic.  Mistakes  is  bound  to  happen  in 


A   WAIF   OF   THE   SEA  23 

the  best  regulated  families,  an'  this  is  a  mistake  sure  as 
you're  born." 

But  the  boy  was  not  deceived  by  the  confident  tone 
and  easy  air  of  his  father.  He  noted  that  the  faces  of 
the  other  prisoners  bore  expressions  of  sullen  hopeless- 
ness, their  dejection  increasing  as  each  sweep  of  the 
oars  brought  them  nearer  the  Alexander.  Instinct  told 
him  that  their  plight  was  a  desperate  one,  but  boylike 
he  forgot  all  else  for  the  moment  as  they  floated  beneath 
the  frowning  sides  of  the  warship. 

Then  he  found  himself  on  the  polished  deck  of  the 
Alexander,  with  Baldwin's  hand  lightly  clasping  his 
shoulder.  He  watched  the  prisoners  as  they  were  taken 
on  board,  saw  them  huddled  in  a  group,  formed  in  line 
and  then  marched  down  the  companionway.  His 
father's  parting  kiss  was  yet  warm  on  his  lips. 

The  captain  of  the  Frolic  was  the  last  in  line,  and 
just  before  he  came  to  the  steps  he  looked  over  his 
shoulder,  smiled  and  waved  his  manacled  hands  to  Mas- 
cot in  parting.  Tears  came,  but  the  lad  dashed  the 
water  from  his  eyes,  threw  his  shoulders  back  and  stood 
with  head  erect  as  Captain  Benson  approached  with 
Lieutenant  Rawlins.  They  stopped  a  few  paces  away. 

"  And  this  is  the  small  chap  who  shot  our  Cuban  ?  " 
remarked  Captain  Benson  to  his  officer.  "  I  say,  Raw- 
lins, he's  a  handsome  youngster!  Full  uniform  of  a 
captain  of  an  American  man-of-war !  He  looks  as  if  he 
had  stepped  out  of  a  page  of  juvenile  fiction.  Come 
here,  my  lad." 


24  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

The  boy  approached,  removed  his  hat  and  gravely 
saluted. 

"  What  is  your  name,  my  lad  ?  "  he  asked  pleasantly. 
'"  Do  not  be  afraid ;  no  one  here  will  harm  you." 

"  I'm  not  afraid,"  said  the  boy,  but  without  a  trace 
of  bravado.  "  My  name  is  Joseph  Stark,  but  dad  and 
all  of  them  call  me  Mascot." 

"  The  captain  of  the  Frolic  is  your  father,  is  he 
not?" 

"  Captain  Stark  is  my  father  and  I  want  to  be  locked 
up  with  him." 

"  We  will  see  about  that.     Where  is  your  mother  ?  " 

"  She's  dead." 

"  That's  too  bad,"  mused  Captain  Benson.  "  Where 
'do  you  live,  Master  Stark  ?  " 

"  On  the  Frolic." 

"  I  mean  when  you  are  ashore." 

"  I  never  go  ashore,"  Mascot  said,  and  then  added, 
(( only  on  islands  when  we  camp  out,  but  dad  says  that 
islands  don't  count.  I've  always  been  on  the  Frolic." 

"  Indeed !  Think  of  that  for  a  life  for  a  boy,  Kaw- 
lins !  And  your  mother,  my  lad  ?  Did  she  live  on  the 
Frolic  before  she  died  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  sir,"  was  the  reply.  "  I  never  saw 
my  mother,  and  dad  don't  talk  about  her."  His  tone 
indicated  that  he  considered  the  matter  of  small  conse- 
quence. 

"  Poor  little  beggar !  "  exclaimed  the  captain,  turning 
aside  to  his  officer.  "  He  has  no  idea  what  a  mother  is. 


A   WAIF   OF   THE   SEA  35 

"No  wonder  he  was  not  afraid  to  shoot  that  Cuban."  He 
asked  Mascot  if  he  could  read  or  write. 

"  I'm  through  the  third  reader,  and  I  can  do  frac- 
tions," he  replied  proudly.  "  Long  Bill  is  a  scholar, 
and  he  is  teaching  me.  He  knows  more  about  books 
than  most  anybody." 

"  The  sailor  he  calls  '  Long  Bill '  is  mate  of  the 
Frolic,  explained  Rawlins.  "  Quite  an  odd  sort  of  a 
chap  to  be  in  such  a  profession." 

"  We  are  going  to  Kingston,  my  lad,"  Captain  Ben- 
son said,  after  a  pause,  "  and  I  am  disposed  to  put  you 
on  parole  until  we  reach  there.  Do  you  know  what  that 
means  ? " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  Mascot.  "  It  means  that  you 
promise  not  to  skip  out." 

"  Exactly,"  smiled  the  captain.  "  You  may  go  any- 
where on  this  deck,  but  you  must  not  go  below.  And 
you  shall  eat  at  my  table  with  Lieutenant  Rawlins.  Do 
you  promise  ? " 

"  I'd  rather  be  with  dad,"  the  boy  said,  "  but  he  said 
we  wouldn't  have  much  to  say  about  what  we'd  do,  so 
I'll  promise.  Can  I  see  him  when  we  get  to  Kings- 
ton?" 

"  You  may,"  Captain  Benson  said  after  reflection. 
He  turned  and  gave  orders  to  get  under  way,  leaving 
Mascot  free  to  explore  the  wonderful  deck  at  his  will. 

It  all  seemed  like  a  dream,  but  Mascot  knew  it  was 
real  because  he  was  hungry,  and  because  he  could  smell 
the  appetizing  aroma  of  coffee.  And  the  agile  and  blue- 


26  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

uniformed  sailors  were  real.  They  grinned  at  him  in  a 
most  natural  and  reassuring  manner  as  they  passed  him 
while  obeying  the  curt  commands  shouted  by  various 
officers.  He  heard  the  clanking  of  machinery  and  ran 
to  where  the  steam  hoist  was  tugging  at  the  anchor 
chains.  He  leaned  over  the  rail  and  watched  the  anchor 
as  it  came  to  the  surface,  its  flukes  black  with  mud  and 
festooned  with  weeds. 

He  heard  the  tinkle  of  a  bell,  and  an  instant  later  felt 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life  the  throb  of  a  marine  engine. 
He  experienced  a  thrill  when  he  felt  the  thrust  of  the 
screw  and  the  vibration  of  the  ship  as  she  swung  in  a 
quarter  circle  and  pointed  out  to  sea.  A  bugle  sounded, 
the  marines  formed  in  line  and  went  through  a  brief 
drill  to  the  sharp  orders  of  an  officer.  It  was  all  so 
different  from  the  lazy  and  unorganized  life  on  the 
Frolic,  and  this  was  Mascot's  introduction  to  the  world 
of  order. 

As  they  passed  the  mouth  of  the  inlet  Mascot  caught 
a  glimpse  of  the  Frolic  tacking  slowly  across  the  lagoon. 
He  knew  that  Jake  Stark  would  not  have  attempted  to 
take  her  out  against  a  head  wind  at  low  tide.  The  loca- 
tion of  every  rock,  reef  and  sand-bar  was  familiar  to 
Mascot,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  little  schooner 
was  in  dangerous  waters.  A  cliff  shut  off  the  view,  and 
he  was  looking  intently  for  another  glint  of  her  sails 
when  Baldwin  touched  him  on  the  arm  and  announced 
that  breakfast  was  ready. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  the  Alexander 


A   WAIF   OF   THE  SEA  27 

entered  the  outer  harbor  of  Kingston.  She  took  on  a 
negro  pilot  who  steered  the  ship  through  a  labyrinth  of 
shoals  and  rocks  past  the  black-muzzled  guns  of  the 
Apostles'  Battery  and  the  terraced  heights  of  Fort 
Augusta,  finally  anchoring  opposite  Wherry  wharf. 

Mascot  was  locked  in  the  captain's  cabin  when  Jake 
Stark,  Long  Bill  and  the  crew  of  the  smuggler  were 
brought  from  below  and  turned  over  to  the  local  author- 
ities. The  boy  did  not  ask  for  his  father,  relying  on 
Captain  Benson's  promise  that  he  should  be  permitted 
to  see  him. 

He  slept  soundly  that  night  and  was  on  deck  before 
the  sun  had  broken  over  the  giant  shoulders  of  the  Blue 
Mountains.  He  watched  the  black  fishermen  singing 
as  they  made  out  to  sea ;  he  saw  the  great  ox  teams  as 
they  trudged  along  the  dusty  roads ;  for  the  first  time  he 
gazed  near  at  hand  at  the  spectacle  of  a  city,  but  nothing 
so  much  interested  him  as  the  ship  on  which  he  was  a 
captive. 

How  was  it,  he  wondered  as  he  walked  the  deck,  that 
men  as  wise  as  his  father  and  Long  Bill  were  content  to 
be  officers  on  the  little  Frolic  when  there  existed  so 
splendid  a  craft  as  the  Alexander?  It  was  a  mystery 
past  his  solving. 

Early  in  the  forenoon  an  officer  came  from  the  fort 
and  held  an  interview  with  Captain  Benson.  He  was 
the  disgusted  bearer  of  unwelcome  news.  Jake  Stark 
and  Long  Bill  had  escaped.  A  yawl  was  missing,  and 
searching  parties  had  discovered  it  several  miles  up  the 


28  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

beach.  A  negro  had  seen  two  men  dressed  as  sailors 
walking  swiftly  along  a  jungle  path  just  before  day- 
break. 

While  this  and  other  matters  were  under  discussion 
a  messenger  arrived  and  delivered  to  Captain  Benson 
an  official  despatch  directing  him  to  proceed  at  once  to 
Trinidad.  In  the  rush  of  events  he  had  almost  forgotten 
Mascot.  As  he  came  on  deck  he  saw  the  boy  gazing 
toward  the  fort,  a  wistful  look  on  his  handsome  young 
face.  He  turned  and  raised  his  cap  as  the  officer  ap- 
proached. 

"  You  promised  me  that  I  should  see  my  father,"  he 

said,  "  and  you  have  sent  him  to  that  fort  over  there. 
j » 

"  Did  Baldwin  tell  you  that  ?  "  demanded  the  captain, 
his  face  darkening  with  a  frown. 

"  No,  sir ;  a  nigger  boy  rowed  up  here  and  I  was  talk- 
ing with  him  not  long  ago,  and  he  told  me  all  about  it. 
He  saw  them  when  the  boat  took  them  away.  When  I 
gave  my  parole  you  promised  I  should  see  him.  I  kept 
my  word  and  you  ought  to  keep  yours,"  concluded  the 
boy,  replacing  his  cap  and  looking  frankly  into  the  face 
of  the  officer. 

The  latter  pulled  at  his  mustache  and  was  silent  for 
a  period.  His  mind  wandered  back  to  England  and  to 
his  own  boy  so  like  this  manly  little  chap. 

"  I  cannot  take  you  to  your  father,"  he  began,  paus- 
ing to  weigh  his  words.  "  I " 


A  WAIF  OF   THE  SEA  2g 

"  Have  they  killed  him  ? "  cried  Mascot,  his  eyes 
bright  with  fear.  "  Have  the  soldiers  killed  him  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  my  lad,"  quickly  responded  Captain  Ben- 
son. "  Your  father  has  escaped  from  the  fort  with  the 
man  you  call  Long  Bill." 

Mascot's  face  was  radiant  and  he  gave  a  cry  of  joy. 

"  You'll  never  catch  dad  and  Long  Bill  again ! "  he 
declared  with  a  laugh  which  was  savage  in  its  triumph. 
"  Gee !  I  wish  I  was  with  them !  I'll  bet  you'd  never 
find  us!" 

"Do  you  suppose  you  could  find  them  if  I  let  you 
go  ?  "  asked  Captain  Benson,  watching  the  boy  narrowly. 
Mascot  was  on  his  guard  in  an  instant. 

"  I  don't  know  where  they  went,  and  if  I  did  I 
wouldn't  tell  you,"  he  said  stoutly. 

The  commander  of  the  Alexander  gazed  out  over 
the  bay  and  spent  a  few  minutes  of  his  valuable  time  on 
the  small  prisoner  who  was  in  his  charge.  There  was 
something  about  the  lad  which  impressed  him  strongly, 
and  he  could  not  evade  the  thought  that  a  certain  respon- 
sibility had  been  imposed  on  him.  It  was  an  easy 
matter  to  turn  the  waif  over  to  the  Kingston  author- 
ities, who  doubtless  would  place  him  in  a  reformatory 
institution,  with  the  chances  a  hundred  to  one  that  he 
would  escape  and  join  his  father  or  fall  into  an  even 
worse  fate. 

There  were  no  naval  rules  covering  such  an  emer- 
gency, and  while  Captain  Benson  knew  that  he  would 
consult  his  own  interests  by  turning  the  boy  over  to  the 


jo  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

mercies  of  Jamaica  charity,  he  swiftly  decided  on  an- 
other course. 

"  We  sail  from  here  in  a  few  hours,"  he  finally  said 
to  Mascot,  "  and  I  have  decided  to  take  you  with  me. 
If  your  father  is  caught  he  will  be  kept  in  jail  for  years, 
and  if  he  evades  capture  how  are  you  to  find  him? 
When  we  return  here  I  shall  do  the  best  I  can  for  you, 
my  lad." 

"  If  I  can't  be  with  dad  and  Long  Bill  I  would  rather 
stay  on  this  ship  than  do  anything  else,"  Mascot  said 
slowly  after  an  interval  of  silence. 

With  the  next  tide  the  Alexander  steamed  slowly 
out  of  Kingston  harbor,  and  as  the  hills  and  mountains 
ranged  themselves  in  view  Mascot  wondered  what  spot 
concealed  Jake  Stark  and  Long  Bill.  He  stood  for  hours 
watching  the  rugged  skyline  of  the  island,  until  the  deep 
blue  faded  into  an  indistinct  purple  which  was  blotted 
out  in  the  twilight. 

This  eclipse  of  everything  which  identified  him  with 
his  life  seemed  like  a  dream,  and  a  great  wave  of  long- 
ing and  homesickness  swept  over  him,  blurring  his  eyes 
with  tears  and  shaking  him  with  sobs.  He  had  never 
known  the  touch  of  a  hand  more  tender  than  that  of 
Jake  Stark's,  and  Long  Bill  was  his  ideal  of  a  scholar 
and  a  gentleman.  As  in  an  instant,  he  had  been  torn 
away  from  the  only  beings  on  earth  for  whom  he  felt 
respect  and  love.  The  end  of  his  small  world  had 
come. 

He    thought    of    the    Frolic,    the    dirty,    unlovely 


A    WAIF   OF   THE  SEA  jx 

Frolic;  he  thought  of  the  little  room  in  which  he  had 
slept  ever  since  he  could  remember;  he  thought  of  the 
rough  kindness  of  his  father,  and  to  his  mind  there 
came  a  pathetic  procession  of  a  thousand  little  acts 
which  had  meant  little  to  him  until  then.  He  curled  up 
beside  a  coil  of  rope,  cried  himself  to  sleep,  and  there 
Baldwin  found  him  and  carried  him  to  his  room. 

Grief  is  not  lasting  in  the  heart  of  a  healthy  boy. 
Not  until  ambition  has  fled  does  sorrow  gnaw  like 
a  cancer  at  the  soul.  The  sun  shone  on  the  Alexan- 
der as  brightly  as  it  did  on  the  Frolic,  each  hour 
ushered  in  some  novelty,  new  friends  partly  filled  the 
void  left  by  those  who  had  vanished  beneath  the  horizon, 
and  an  unknown  and  beautiful  world  unrolled  itself 
before  his  eager  eyes. 

At  the  whim  of  the  British  admiralty,  the  Alex- 
ander ploughed  thousands  of  miles  of  sea  without  again 
anchoring  in  Kingston  harbor.  She  skirted  the  coast  of 
South  America,  then  pointed  for  St.  Helena,  where 
after  a  brief  stay  she  made  for  Cape  Town.  In  the 
weeks  which  followed  he  looked  on  the  wonders  of  Mad- 
agascar, endured  the  heat  of  the  Red  Sea,  rested  in  the 
cool  bazaars  of  Cairo,  loitered  in  the  quaint  towns  and 
cities  of  the  Mediterranean,  and  lay  at  anchor  beneath 
the  shadow  of  Gibraltar. 

From  the  deck  of  the  Frolic  he  had  caught  glimpses 
of  towns  and  cities,  and,  in  a  vague  way,  had  real- 
ized that  there  were  activities  with  which  he  was 
not  familiar,  but  he  was  now  a  part  of  this  splendid, 


32 


THE   BOTTOM   OF    THE    WELL 


pulsating  world.  In  a  delicious  daze  he  walked  the 
streets  of  great  cities,  and  marvelled  at  the  conflicting 
and  converging  streams  of  human  traffic;  he  sat  in 
theatres,  his  ears  ravished  by  music,  his  eyes  dazzled 
by  the  sights  in  those  temples  of  beauty,  fashion  and 
luxury ;  he  learned  that  the  world  was  vast,  that  it  was 
ruled  by  laws,  that  there  were  numberless  ways  in  which 
one  could  fairly  attain  to  wealth  and  honor;  and  with 
this  discovery  there  came  the  suspicion  that  his  father 
and  Long  Bill  were  far  down  in  the  scale  of  humanity. 

He  had  learned  what  smuggling  meant,  and  he  came 
to  understand  why  his  father  was  one  to  be  hunted  as 
an  outcast.  In  the  long  tropical  afternoons  he  lay  in 
the  shade  of  an  awning  and  thought  of  the  uncouth  man 
whose  name  he  bore.  There  were  times  when  his  heart 
was  bitter  against  the  one  who  had  bequeathed  to  him  a 
legacy  of  disgrace,  but  in  such  moments  there  would 
come  to  him  the  vision  of  a  gentle  and  kindly  Jake 
Stark,  his  homely  face  softened  by  a  loving  smile. 

The  image  of  his  father  as  he  last  saw  him  was  ever 
vivid  in  his  memory — the  extended  manacled  hands 
waving  a  farewell  as  he  disappeared  from  view,  perhaps 
forever.  Again  he  lived  over  the  thrilling  moment  when 
his  father  had  offered  his  body  as  a  shield  against  a  rain 
of  bullets.  But — but — and  the  thought  struck  him  like 
a  blow  in  the  face — Jake  Stark  was  a  smuggler  and  an 
outlaw. 

One  afternoon  he  found  himself  wondering  about  his 
dead  and  unknown  mother.  He  had  learned  that 


A   WAIF   OF    THE   SEA  33 

mothers  filled  a  large  space  in  the  hearts  of  boys  and 
even  of  men.  Captain  Benson  had  showed  him  the  pict- 
ure of  his  mother.  Perhaps  Jake  Stark  had  a  mother 
living,  and,  if  so,  she  would  be  his  grandmother.  He 
had  never  thought  to  ask  his  father  this  question. 

"  Surely  dad  must  have  a  picture  of  my  mother," 
mused  Mascot,  and  then  his  fancy  limned  portraits  of 
her,  proud,  stately  and  beautiful  like  Captain  Benson's 
mother,  younger,  of  course,  with  dark  brown  hair  in- 
stead of  gray.  She  must  have  been  very  beautiful, 
Mascot  decided,  but  again  his  imagination  faltered  when 
he  attempted  to  account  for  the  marriage  of  such  a  lady 
to  Jake  Stark. 

From  captain  to  cabin-boy  everybody  on  the  ship 
called  him  "  Mascot,"  and  the  sailors  held  that  the  un- 
interrupted run  of  good  weather  and  good  rations  was 
due  to  his  presence. 

Each  officer  constituted  himself  a  member  of  the  fac- 
ulty for  the  education  of  Mascot.  He  mastered  the 
mechanism  of  the  rapid-firing  guns,  and  it  was  a  happy 
moment  when  he  was  permitted  to  take  an  active  part 
in  target  practice.  The  old  Scotch  engineer  spent  hours 
in  explaining  to  him  the  mysteries  of  valves,  condensers, 
pistons,  plungers  and  the  innumerable  details  of  the 
pulsating  harness  of  steam.  Under  the  tutelage  of  the 
ship's  surgeon,  Mascot  made  more  rapid  progress  in 
grammar  and  other  studies  than  he  had  with  the  patient 
but  unmethodical  Long  Bill. 

The  day  came  when  the  news  arrived  that  they  were 
3 


34  THE   BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

to  sail.  Captain  Benson's  manner  at  the  breakfast  table 
that  autumn  morning  under  the  guns  of  Gibraltar  con- 
vinced Mascot  that  he  had  received  an  important  mes- 
sage. 

"  We  start  for  Kingston  to-night,"  he  said,  looking 
narrowly  at  the  boy.  "  Are  you  glad,  my  lad  ?  " 

Mascot  looked  vacantly  out  the  port-hole  and  saw  the 
glint  of  the  sun  as  it  flamed  from  the  polished  steel  and 
brass  of  his  pet  six-inch  gun. 

"  I  think  I'm  sorry,  sir,"  he  said. 

Alternate  hopes  and  fears  came  to  him  as  the  ship 
ploughed  her  way  near  and  nearer  to  Kingston,  but  to 
his  boyish  mind  there  entered  no  premonition  of  the 
strange  career  which  the  future  held  in  store  for  him. 


CHAPTER  III 

STANLEY   DEANE GENTLEMAN 

ON  her  circuitous  trip  back  to  Jamaica  the  Alex- 
ander came  to  anchor  in  the  picturesque  harbor  of 
Port  of  Spain,  Trinidad.  Several  years  before  Mascot 
had  looked  out  on  this  busy  scene  from  the  deck  of  the 
Frolic.  For  a  brief  period  Jake  Stark  had  found  it 
profitable  to  employ  the  trim  schooner  in  the  carrying 
of  cacao,  coffee  and  fruits  from  this  port  to  New 
Orleans,  but  the  competition  became  so  spirited  that  the 
Yankee  skipper  returned  to  the  more  devious,  exciting 
and  lucrative  occupation  of  smuggling  tobacco  to  the 
great  republic  to  the  north  of  them. 

This  was  Mascot's  first  sight  of  familiar  shores  for 
nearly  six  months,  and  something  warned  him  that  his 
life  on  the  Alexander  was  nearing  its  end.  He  felt 
a  little  guilty  that  his  longing  for  the  old  life  on  the 
Frolic  had  gone.  He  still  loved  his  father,  but  the 
chances  were  small  that  he  would  see  him  again  for 
years — perhaps  never  again.  The  emotions  of  a  boy  of 
twelve  are  plastic,  and  had  Captain  Benson  moved  with 
deliberate  intent  he  could  not  have  planned  a  more  effec- 
tive method  of  weaning  Mascot  from  associations  which, 


36  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

in  a  few  more  years,  would  have  made  a  permanent 
impress  on  his  character. 

On  the  day  following  their  arrival  in  Port  of  Spain, 
Captain  Benson  gave  a  dinner  to  the  Governor,  his 
executive  staff  and  other  distinguished  guests.  Mascot 
had  participated  in  several  of  these  functions,  and  Cap- 
tain Benson  took  pride  in  giving  his  protege  a  seat  at 
the  banquet  board,  and  in  introducing  him  as  a  "  gallant 
young  American  who  had  been  impressed  into  Her 
Majesty's  service." 

The  good  captain  steadfastly  refused  to  reveal  to  the 
guests  who  thus  met  Mascot  the  secret  of  his  identity, 
neither  would  he  tell  a  shred  of  his  story.  He  had  a 
plan  in  view,  and  he  desired  to  give  the  lad  a  start  in 
life  without  the  handicap  of  a  history,  which  in  later 
years  might  arise  to  embarrass  and  harass  him. 

Among  those  who  sat  at  the  captain's  table  that  after- 
noon was  a  gentleman  of  distinguished  appearance,  in 
full  naval  uniform.  This  was  Rear-Admiral  Stanley 
Deane,  a  retired  officer  of  the  British  navy.  He  had 
married  late  in  life,  and  had  settled  his  wife  and  son  on 
a  large  and  well-appointed  plantation  not  far  from  the 
capital  of  Trinidad.  He  had  surrendered  his  commis- 
sion several  years  before  on  account  of  the  precarious 
condition  of  his  wife's  health.  Her  death  had  been  fol- 
lowed by  that  of  his  only  son  and  heir,  and  he  had  ac- 
cepted a  civic  position  for  the  sake  of  relieving  the 
tedium  of  a  lonely  life  on  the  desolated  plantation. 

Captain   Benson    had    written    to   the    Admiral    of 


STANLEY  DEANE— GENTLEMAN  37 

Mascot,  telling  the  boy's  story  so  far  as  he  knew  it,  and 
had  suggested  the  possibility  of  the  adoption  of  this 
bright  and  handsome  lad.  The  two  officers  were  old 
friends.  Admiral  Deane  had  written  in  return  thank- 
ing him  for  his  interest,  and  expressing  a  wish  to  see 
the  little  sea  waif. 

Without  knowing  it,  Mascot  was  under  inspection 
during  the  elaborate  dinner  that  afternoon.  He  often 
caught  the  kindly  looking  gentleman  looking  at  him  in- 
tently, but  little  did  he  dream  of  the  reason.  He  com- 
ported himself  with  a  dignity  and  an  ease  which  im- 
pressed all  who  met  him  that  day,  and  the  Admiral  was 
at  once  attached  to  him. 

Mascot  was  called  into  Captain  Benson's  room  later 
in  the  evening  and  found  Admiral  Deane  with  his 
patron. 

"  My  lad,"  Captain  Benson  said,  placing  his  hand  on 
Mascot's  shoulder,  "  Admiral  Deane  once  had  a  boy  who 
would  be  about  your  age  had  he  lived.  We  have  been 
talking  about  you,  Mascot.  I  have  told  the  Admiral 
that  you  are  a  good  boy,  and  that  I  should  like  to  keep 
you  with  me  always,  but  that  a  ship  is  no  place  for  you 
until  you  have  been  schooled  and  trained  as  a  man 
should  be.  The  Admiral  likes  you,  and  he  is  willing  to 
give  you  a  home,  send  you  to  school  and  fit  you  to  take  a 
proper  place  in  the  world.  I  wish  you  to  accept  his 
offer,  Mascot.  Are  you  willing  to  do  so  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  the  boy  said,  saluting.  His  voice  was 
clear,  but  tears  brimmed  in  his  eyes. 


38  THE   BOTTOM   OF    THE    WELL 

"  Spoken  like  a  man,  my  lad !  "  exclaimed  the  Ad- 
miral, holding  his  hands  out  to  Mascot. 

"  I  would  like  to  stay  on  the  Alexander,  but  I  know 
that  I  can't,"  said  Mascot,  "  and  I'll  do  what  Captain 
Benson  says.  I  shall  try  to  like  you,  sir." 

"  I'm  sure  that  we'll  get  along  famously,"  declared 
the  Admiral.  "  Captain,  we  should  have  a  glass  of 
wine  to  bind  this  bargain  and  celebrate  the  occasion." 

The  three  drank  some  of  Captain  Benson's  best 
Madeira  in  honor  of  Mascot's  prospects,  and  the  next 
day  the  Alexander  sailed  away  without  him. 

For  three  happy  years  the  boy  lived  on  the  great  plan- 
tation and  attended  a  preparatory  school  in  Port  of 
Spain.  Before  that  time  had  elapsed  Admiral  Deane 
had  come  to  love  him  as  his  son,  and  when  Mascot  was 
fourteen  years  old  he  was  legally  adopted  and  given  the 
name  of  Stanley  Deane — the  name  of  the  dead  boy 
whose  place  he  had  worthily  taken. 

Captain  Benson  had  advised  Mascot  not  to  talk  to  his 
guardian  of  his  past  life  and  associates,  and  to  try  as 
best  he  could  to  consider  himself  a  Deane.  This  may 
have  been  at  the  Admiral's  suggestion ;  certain  it  is  that 
never — save  on  an  occasion  which  will  be  mentioned — 
did  either  make  the  remotest  reference  to  the  years 
before  the  time  that  Mascot  stepped  on  board  the  Alex- 
ander. From  the  day  the  Admiral  and  the  boy  left  the 
ship  together,  the  name  of  "  Mascot "  was  replaced  by 
that  of  "  Stanley." 

Amid  these  new  surroundings  the  memory  of  the  old 


STANLEY  DEANE— GENTLEMAN  39 

wild  days  on  the  Frolic  faded  as  the  months  rolled 
into  years,  but  the  pictures  of  Jake  Stark  and  Long 
Bill  did  not  grow  dim.  He  loved  his  foster  father  and 
was  loyal  to  him,  but  deep  down  in  his  heart  was  that 
devotion  which  can  exist  only  between  a  son  and  his  sire. 

Stanley  was  fond  of  strolling  along  the  quays,  and  he 
came  to  know  many  of  the  sailors  and  petty  officers  of 
the  boats  which  made  this  harbor.  The  Admiral  was 
aware  of  this  habit,  but  made  no  effort  to  restrain  him. 
If  he  could  not  hold  the  lad  by  ties  of  affection  he  pre- 
ferred to  let  him  go  his  own  free  way. 

One  day  shortly  before  the  papers  were  signed  mak- 
ing him  the  lawfully  adopted  son  of  Admiral  Deane,  he 
was  watching  the  unloading  of  a  three-masted  schooner 
which  he  had  never  before  seen  in  the  harbor.  A  sailor 
came  from  below,  and  the  boy  recognized  him  instantly. 

"  Jim !  Jim !  "  he  cried,  rushing  to  him  as  he  stepped 
on  the  gangplank.  "  Don't  you  know  me,  Jim  ?  " 

"  Know  ye  ?  Blast  me  eyes  if  it  isn't  little  Mascot !  " 
exclaimed  one  of  the  former  prisoners  from  the 
Frolic.  "  You're  so  dressed  up  an'  have  grown  so 
tall  that  I  hardly  knew  ye!  What  are  ye  doin'  here, 
Mascot  ? " 

"  I'm  living  here,"  the  boy  said,  his  voice  quivering 
with  excitement.  "  Tell  me,  Jim,  do  you  know  what 
became  of  my — of  Captain  Stark  ?  " 

The  sailor  looked  at  him  with  a  puzzled  air. 

"  Lord  bless  ye,  boy,  don't  ye  know  what  become  of 
him  ? "  He  hesitated  a  moment  and  scratched  his 


4o 


THE  BOTTOM    OF    THE    WELL 


tangled  mass  of  hair.  "  Come  to  think  on  it,  how  would 
ye  know,  seein'  that  ye  live  here?  I  hate  to  tell  ye, 
Mascot,  but  yer  dad's  dead !  " 

"  Dead  ?  "  echoed  the  boy. 

"  Killed  in  a  scrap  with  revenue  officers,  so  I'm  told, 
about  three  months  ago." 

The  boy  gazed  blankly  at  him,  and  then  without  a 
word  turned  and  walked  rapidly  away. 

Late  that  night  one  of  the  servants  heard  him  sobbing 
in  his  room,  and  at  once  called  Admiral  Deane  who 
hastened  to  him.  After  repeated  questions  the  boy  told 
what  he  had  learned.  For  an  hour  the  old  Admiral 
talked  tenderly  to  him,  soothed  and  comforted  him  and 
watched  him  drop  into  a  restful  sleep.  From  that  night 
the  past  was  dead,  Mascot  was  dead,  and  Stanley  Deane 
lived. 

A  year  after  his  adoption  as  the  son  of  Admiral 
Deane,  that  gentleman  decided  to  sell  his  Trinidad  in- 
terests and  move  to  England.  They  made  the  trip  on 
the  Alexander,  and  never  did  Stanley  Deane  forget 
those  glorious  days  as  the  brave  ship  set  her  prow  to- 
ward his  future  home. 

In  addition  to  inherited  property,  Admiral  Deane's 
investments  and  plantations  had  yielded  him  large 
returns.  His  brother,  Sir  Whitaker  Deane,  owned  Crag- 
mere,  the  historic  Deane  estate  in  southern  England, 
a  house  in  London  and  a  large  interest  in  one  of  its 
leading  banks.  The  Admiral  purchased  a  fine  piece  of 
property  adjoining  Sir  Whitaker's  country  estate  and 


STAN  LET  DEANE— GENTLEMAN  41 

settled  down  to  enjoy  the  quiet  and  comfort  of  an 
English  gentleman. 

The  wealthy  and  eccentric  Sir  Whitaker  Deane  was  a 
bachelor,  the  elder  and  only  brother  to  the  Admiral. 
The  latter  was  natural  heir  to  Sir  Whitaker,  and  that 
gentleman  had  raised  objections  to  the  adoption  of  Stan- 
ley, but  he  dismissed  them  the  first  day  he  met  the 
handsome  lad  who  had  a  right  to  call  him  uncle.  During 
the  years  which  followed,  Sir  Whitaker  was  so  lavish 
with  his  gifts  and  entertainments  that  the  Admiral 
feared  Stanley  would  be  spoiled,  but  the  young  man 
stood  the  test  of  prosperity  with  an  aplomb  which  de- 
lighted both  brothers. 

"  I  don't  care  who  his  father  was  or  what  he  did," 
Sir  Whitaker  was  wont  to  declare  over  his  brandy,  "  he 
must  have  had  a  gentleman's  blood  in  him.  He  is  a  lad 
to  be  proud  of.  I'm  going  to  change  my  will  so  as  to 
entail  all  my  property  to  him  after  your  death." 

"  It  is  not  necessary,  Sir  Whitaker,"  the  Admiral 
would  smile,  having  heard  this  declaration  scores  of 
times  before.  "  Stanley  has  been  my  heir  since  the  day 
I  gave  him  my  name,  and  he  will  never  do  anything  to 
cause  me  to  change  my  mind." 

Stanley  studied  under  tutors  and  was  admitted  to 
Oxford.  He  distinguished  himself  in  his  classes  and 
was  a  popular  leader  in  athletics.  He  completed  his 
course  with  credit  to  himself  and  to  his  sponsors,  and  in 
honor  of  that  event  Sir  Whitaker  Deane  gave  a  series  of 


42  THE   BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

entertainments,  concluding  with  a  house  party  in  his 
fine  old  country  mansion. 

The  former  sea  waif  was  then  in  his  twenty-first  year, 
and  a  more  finely  proportioned  youth  never  threw  leg 
over  polo  pony  or  gazed  frankly  into  the  eyes  of  beauty. 
Dark  brown  hair  inclined  to  curl  at  the  ends  spoke  of 
manly  strength  and  virility.  Shadowing  lashes  gave 
his  eyes  a  dreamy,  introspective  cast  when  at  rest,  but 
when  quickened  by  interest  or  emotion  they  kindled 
with  quick  and  magnetic  intellect.  His  clear  skin  had 
the  slightest  tinge  of  olive,  the  lingering  kiss  of  tropical 
sun  and  breeze.  The  boy  had  become  a  man;  a  manly 
man  with  plenty  of  the  animal  in  him,  but  held  firmly 
in  leash  by  will  and  brain. 

Sir  Whitaker  did  nothing  by  halves,  and  when  he  had 
decided  on  the  house  party  at  Cragmere  he  gave  the 
huge  mansion  over  to  an  army  of  renovaters,  decorators 
and  experts  who  cater  to  the  wishes  of  those  who  know 
how  to  entertain  and  can  afford  to  do  so.  The  great 
ballroom  was  turned  into  a  theatre,  a  dancing  pavilion 
reared  itself  as  by  magic  on  the  lawn,  the  regular  ser- 
vants were  dismayed  and  distracted  by  the  pother,  but 
at  last  all  was  finished  and  the  guests  began  pouring  in. 

Sir  Whitaker  Deane  was  financially  connected  with 
the  New  York  bank  of  which  David  Farnsworth  was 
president.  Mr.  Farnsworth,  his  wife,  daughter  and 
Alice  Buckingham,  his  niece,  were  in  London  at  the 
time,  and  they  accepted  Sir  Whitaker's  invitation  to 


STANLET  DEANE— GENTLEMAN  43 

spend  several  days  as  his  guests  at  the  party  in  Stanley 
Deane's  honor. 

"  It  is  the  fashion  these  days  to  marry  American 
girls,  so  I  am  told,  Stanley,"  Sir  Whitaker  said  to  the 
young  man  the  day  before  the  arrival  of  the  Farnsworth 
party.  "  I'm  not  an  authority  on  marriage — never  could 
find  a  woman  willing  to  take  a  chance  on  me — but  if  I 
had  my  life  to  live  over  again  I  should  make  desperate 
love  to  Miss  Buckingham.  I  met  her  in  Paris  with  her 
father,  and  she  is  very  pretty." 

"  Who  is  she  ?  "  carelessly  asked  Stanley. 

"  Daughter  of  one  of  those  preposterously  rich  Amer- 
ican manufacturers,"  went  on  the  old  gallant,  who  knew 
by  heart  the  rating  of  every  man  of  conspicuous  wealth 
in  New  York  City.  "  He  married  a  famous  French 
beauty,  but  she  died  a  few  years  after  this  daughter  was 
born.  Miss  Buckingham  has  dark  hair,  glorious  dark 
eyes,  a  saucy  and  lovable  mouth,  teeth  which  are  perfect 
and  a  figure  which  an  artist  would  rave  over.  Her 
cousin,  Miss  Farnsworth,  is  also  pretty,  but  she  does  not 
compare  with  this  peerless  heiress." 

When  Stanley  was  presented  to  the  cousins  the  next 
afternoon  he  did  not  hesitate  to  admit  that  his  uncle  had 
paid  none  too  generous  a  tribute  to  the  charms  of  Alice 
Buckingham.  She  was  very  young — not  more  than 
fifteen,  he  judged — and  had  all  the  dignity  which  comes 
from  wearing  the  first  long  gown. 

There  were  present  many  fair  English  maids,  but  the 
Admiral  and  Sir  Whitaker  noticed  that  their  heir  gave 


44  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

more  than  a  full  share  of  his  time  and  attention  to  the 
fair  Miss  Buckingham.  They  led  the  cotillon,  sang 
duets  at  the  volunteer  concerts,  took  long  drives,  and  in 
other  ways  managed  to  enjoy  each  other's  company. 

Stanley's  chum  in  Oxford  was  a  strapping  young 
American  named  Tom  Harkness,  and  he  found  the 
society  of  the  fair  Dolly  Farnsworth  so  congenial  that 
her  other  admirers  surrendered  to  him  after  the  first 
day.  On  the  morning  set  for  the  departure  of  the  Farns- 
worth party,  Stanley  and  Tom  proposed  to  the  cousins 
a  gallop  across  the  estate  to  the  ruins  of  a  quaint  old 
castle  some  miles  away. 

It  was  a  glorious  day  and  a  glorious  ride.  They  ex- 
plored the  ruins  to  their  heart's  content,  and  then  by 
one  of  those  happenings  so  common  when  young  couples 
are  together  they  drifted  apart. 

It  was  the  first  time  Stanley  and  Miss  Buckingham 
had  been  alone.  The  sea  broke  on  the  rocks  a  hundred 
feet  below,  the  gulls  circled  over  their  heads,  the  sails 
of  ships  were  dim  on  the  horizon,  Nature  unrolled  her 
beauties  with  a  lavish  hand,  yet  it  may  be  doubted  if 
they  fully  appreciated  the  splendors  of  that  vista  of 
ocean  and  sky. 

They  talked  of  many  things  of  no  consequence  what- 
ever, and  Stanley  became  conscious  of  a  keen  sense  of 
sorrow  that  the  hour  of  parting  was  near.  Would  he 
ever  see  her  again  ?  Would  the  time  ever  come  when  he 
would  have  the  right  to  ask  some  woman  to  share  his 


STANLEY  DEANE— GENTLEMAN  45 

fate  ?     As  these  thoughts  came  to  him  he  was  silent  and 
abstracted. 

"  You  were  born  in  this  lovely  place,  were  you  not  ?  " 
she  asked.  What  possessed  her,  he  wondered,  to  ask  that 
question  ? 

"  I  was  not  born  in  England,"  he  said,  after  a  pause. 
"  Look  at  those  gulls,  Miss  Buckingham !  " 

"  I  knew  you  were  not !  "  she  cried  triumphantly, 
ignoring  the  gulls.  "  Dolly  and  I  talked  about  it  last 
night,  and  we  agreed  that  you  were  not  English  born." 

"  But  I  am,"  he  said  desperately.  "  I  was  born  in 
Trinidad,  and  that's  a  part  of  the  British  Empire." 

"  Isn't  that  odd !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  I  was  born  in 
France  and  am  an  American,  and  you  were  born  in 
America  and  are  an  Englishman." 

For  some  moments  they  pondered  over  this  statement, 
Stanley  reflecting  bitterly  that  he  did  not  know  where 
he  was  born,  and  wondering  what  she  would  think  of 
him  if  she  knew  that  he  had  been  a  sea  waif. 

"  I  am  awful  sorry  you  are  going  away  from  Crag- 
mere  to-day,"  he  said,  looking  longingly  at  her  as  she 
deftly  adjusted  her  riding  cap. 

"  It's  jolly  nice  of  you  to  say  so,"  she  frankly  said. 
"  I've  had  a  perfectly  splendid  time." 

"  I'm  going  to  visit  New  York  before  many  years, 
and  when  I  do,  I  hope  I  may  be  allowed  to  call  on  you." 

"  But  I'm  not  going  to  be  in  New  York  for  a  long 
time,"  she  said.  "  Dolly  and  I  live  in  my  father's  place 
near  Paris,  and  we  shall  continue  to  study  music  and 


46  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

painting  until  we  are  wofully  wise  and  stupid.  You 
must  call  on  us  in  Paris." 

"  May  I  ?  "  eagerly  asked  Stanley,  and  her  assurance 
that  he  would  be  welcome  made  him  very  happy. 

The  two  cousins  and  the  elder  Farnsworths  left  that 
night,  and  somehow  the  remaining  guests  seemed  stupid 
to  Stanley.  But  something  happened  which  brought  the 
party  to  a  sudden  and  a  tragic  end,  and  drove  all  other 
thoughts  from  his  mind. 

While  proposing  a  toast  to  Her  Majesty,  the  Queen, 
and  with  a  smile  on  his  fine  old  face,  Sir  Whitaker 
Deane  turned  pale,  tottered  and  fell  back  dead  in  his 
chair.  He  was  in  his  seventy-second  year,  and  his  sud- 
den exit  from  an  eventful  and  successful  career  was  the 
one  he  had  hoped  for  and  predicted. 

His  will  left  all  his  vast  property  to  Admiral  Deane, 
entailing  it  to  Stanley.  The  former  had  been  in  deli- 
cate health  for  years,  and  it  had  been  thought  that  he 
would  be  the  first  to  go.  This  excellent  officer  and 
gentleman  never  fully  rallied  from  the  shock  of  his 
brother's  sudden  death.  An  old  wound  reasserted  itself, 
blood  poisoning  supervened,  and  in  his  weakened  con- 
dition he  was  unable  to  fight  against  it.  In  less  than 
three  months  from  the  day  of  Sir  Whitaker's  death, 
Admiral  Deane  was  laid  by  his  side  in  the  massive 
family  vault. 

Thus  it  was  that  shortly  after  having  attained  his 
majority,  Stanley  Deane,  a  bit  of  human  wreckage  cast 
up  from  the  Caribbean,  came  into  possession  of  the 


STANLEY  DEANE— GENTLEMAN  47 

name,  honors  and  estates  of  a  respected  branch  of  a 
proud  English  family. 

Without  unseemly  haste  he  put  his  affairs  in  shape 
and  prepared  to  transfer  his  allegiance  from  England 
to  America.  He  wished  to  establish  the  legitimacy  of 
his  birth,  though  he  had  no  desire  to  take  the  name  of 
Stark.  Legally  he  was  a  Deane — that  was  enough  for 
the  world  to  know,  but  it  did  not  satisfy  him.  Jake 
Stark  was  dead,  but  what  of  his  mother.  Was  she  living 
or  dead  ?  Had  she  been  wife  to  Jake  Stark  ?  That  was 
the  question  which  haunted  and  terrified  him. 

Deane  was  earnestly  American  in  sympathy,  and  was 
a  close  student  of  its  history  and  its  present  Only  in 
a  sense  was  he  a  stranger  to  New  York  City.  During 
his  years  in  Oxford,  and  also  in  a  social  way,  he  had 
met  many  Americans  of  standing.  So  many  wealthy 
residents  of  that  city  had  chosen  to  expatriate  them- 
selves that  those  who  remained  felt  a  certain  pride  when 
it  became  known  that  a  titled  young  Englishman  pre- 
ferred the  attractions  of  their  metropolis  to  his  own. 

Deane  promptly  declared  his  intention  of  becoming 
a  citizen,  fitted  up  quarters  in  keeping  with  his  wealth 
and  station,  was  admitted  to  membership  in  the  proper 
clubs,  and  found  relaxation  in  polo,  golf,  yachting  and 
other  rational  amusements  at  the  command  of  young 
gentlemen  endowed  with  money  and  muscle. 

Society  knew  all  this  and  approved  of  it,  but  society 
would  have  been  puzzled  had  it  known  Deane's  connec- 
tion with  the  following  advertisement  which  appeared 


48  THE   BOTTOM   OF    THE    WELL 

at  irregular  intervals  in  papers  in  various  sections  of 
the  country: 

PERSONAL. — Liberal  rewards  for  information  concerning  the 
present  whereabouts  of  the  widow  of  the  late  Jacob  Stark,  or  Jake 
Stark,  once  captain  of  the  schooner  "Frolic,"  employed  in  various 
capacities  about  ten  years  ago  in  Caribbean  waters  and  in  the  Gulf  of 
Mexico.  Also  liberal  rewards  for  information  concerning  the  rela- 
tives of  the  said  Jacob  Stark. 

No  answers  came  in  response  to  this,  and  the  detec- 
tives employed  failed  to  find  the  slightest  trace  to  the 
clues  sought  by  Deane.  He  commissioned  a  steam  yacht 
and  spent  several  weeks  in  the  waters  and  ports  which 
once  knew  the  fleet  Frolic  and  Jake  Stark,  her  Yankee 
skipper. 

One  tropical  evening  Deane  rowed  into  the  little  land- 
locked bay  where  the  Frolic  was  captured,  and  there 
on  a  reef  found  the  rotting  hull  of  the  first  home  he  had 
ever  known.  Some  fierce  storm  had  tossed  it  well  out 
of  water,  and  he  had  little  difficulty  in  crawling  into  the 
little  room  which  once  had  been  his  own.  The  thought 
almost  overpowered  him  when  he  pondered  on  the  mir- 
acle which  had  been  wrought  in  his  behalf !  Ten  years 
before  he  was  the  young  savage  who  had  not  hesitated 
to  shoot  the  informer,  "  Hungry  Joe."  Now  he  had 
a  right  to  call  himself  "  Sir  Stanley  Deane  " ! 

The  slimy  and  twisted  wreck  of  the  once  handsome 
Frolic  told  no  secrets,  and  after  an  unavailing  search 
of  the  records  of  Kingston  and  other  cities  he  returned 
to  New  York. 


STANLET  DEANE— GENTLEMAN  49 

Deane  had  studied  law  in  Oxford,  and  he  soon  re- 
sumed the  reading  of  it  in  the  office  of  Judge  Sawyer, 
the  New  York  legal  representative  of  the  late  Sir  Whit- 
aker  Deane.  Some  surprise  was  evinced  when  it  became 
known  that  he  had  passed  an  examination  admitting 
him  to  practice,  and  the  mystery  deepened  when  it  was 
sensationally  announced  by  the  papers  that  the  young 
aristocrat  had  opened  a  law  office  on  the  East  Side,  also 
that  his  first  case  had  been  the  successful  defence  of 
strikers  arrested  for  disobeying  an  injunction. 

One  publication  asserted  that  he  was  a  pronounced 
radical  "  with  socialistic  leanings." 

Society  smiled  at  this  rumor.  If  a  man  has  money 
and  can  trace  his  ancestry  back  a  few  generations  with- 
out disastrous  results,  he  will  find  New  York  languidly 
tolerant  of  anything  he  chooses  to  think,  so  long  as  he 
does  not  persist  in  attempting  to  make  it  think.  If  one 
can  afford  the  luxury,  it  is  quite  the  thing  to  ride  a 
reform  hobby,  but  it  is  an  unforgivable  sin  to  force 
matters  to  a  point  where  '  existing  conditions '  are 
threatened.  They  are  the  one  sacred  idol  which  must 
not  be  disturbed. 

Since  it  was  unlikely  that  Deane  would  be  guilty  of 
such  sacrilege,  and  since  he  was  rich,  handsome  and 
agreeable,  society  was  only  politely  concerned  if  that 
cultured  young  gentleman  were  a  socialist  or  a  Buddhist. 
Both  cults  had  distinguished  and  harmless  exemplars. 

Tom  Harkness  was  Deane's  most  intimate  friend, 
and  though  Harkness  was  abroad  much  of  the  time  he 
4 


5o  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

often  spoke  or  wrote  of  having  met  Miss  Alice  Bucking- 
ham in  Paris  or  Berlin.  When  that  fortunate  young 
gentleman  was  in  New  York  he  received  frequent  letters 
from  Dolly  Farnsworth,  and  there  was  much  to  substan- 
tiate the  rumor  that  they  were  engaged,  and  that  the 
wedding  would  be  celebrated  shortly  after  she  had  com- 
pleted her  art  and  musical  studies.  More  than  five  years 
had  passed  since  it  had  been  Stanley's  privilege  to  help 
entertain  the  charming  cousins,  and  often  in  idle  mo- 
ments his  mind  wandered  back  to  those  happy  hours. 

Mrs.  Stack-Haven  was  the  leader  of  the  social  set  to 
which  Harkness,  the  Farnsworths  and  Deane  belonged, 
and  that  good  woman  took  a  special  interest  in  the 
young  lawyer  and  reformer.  To  make  a  successful 
match  for  him  would  be  her  crowning  triumph,  but  all 
her  diplomacy  had  been  in  vain.  Harkness  told  her  of 
the  meeting  between  Deane  and  Miss  Buckingham,  and 
from  his  story  she  shrewdly  suspected  that  success  would 
lie  in  that  direction.  What  an  alliance  it  would  make ! 
Youth,  beauty,  wealth,  position — it  could  be;  it  must 
be! 

After  each  annual  return  from  her  season  abroad, 
Mrs.  Stack-Haven  sounded  in  his  ears  the  praises  of 
Alice  Buckingham,  and  it  may  be  presumed  that  she 
presented  his  claims  with  equal  finesse  when  talking 
with  the  fair  Alice,  and  though  both  smiled  at  her  en- 
thusiasm and  declared  that  they  hardly  knew  each  other, 
Mrs.  Stack-Haven  had  faith  in  her  weapons  and  confi- 
dently awaited  her  triumph. 


STANLEY  DEANE—  GENTLEMAN  51 

"  I  have  great  news  for  you,"  she  exclaimed  one  night 
as  she  greeted  him  in  her  reception-room.  "  Miss  Buck- 
ingham will  return  to  New  York  in  June,  only  three 
months  from  now !  " 

"  Indeed !  I'm  delighted  to  hear  it.  She  must  be 
quite  a  young  lady  ?  " 

"  Quite  a  young  lady !  You  dear  old  stupid !  Alice 
will  be  twenty-one  her  next  birthday.  Stanley  Deane, 
unless  you  fall  down  and  worship  her  I  shall  abandon 
you  to  old-bachelorhood.  I  shall,  I  declare  it!  You 
must  be  getting  awfully  old  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,v  he  laughed.  "  I  am  just  old  enough 
to  vote ;  cast  my  first  ballot  the  other  day." 

"  A  man  should  not  fib  about  his  age.  You  are  more 
than  twenty-one." 

"  Certainly,  but  I  had  to  wait  five  years  owing  to 
your  impolite  laws.  I  confess  to  twenty-six." 

"  You  should  be  ashamed  to  remain  single  that  long, 
but  you'll  be  properly  penitent  when  you  look  into  Miss 
Buckingham's  eyes,"  declared  Mrs.  Stack-Haven.  "  Lis- 
ten, you  vain  boy.  They  are  coming  here  to  live  in  the 
Buckingham  mansion.  I  suppose  you  know  that  the 
old  gentleman  is  dead  ?  " 

"  Her  father  dead  ?  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  No,  her  grandfather,  and  with  his  death  Amos 
Buckingham,  her  father,  comes  into  the  enormous  Buck- 
ingham fortune,"  explained  the  lady.  "  Amos  Bucking- 
ham never  did  a  stroke  of  work  in  his  life,  but  the  old 
man  lavished  everything  on  him.  He  is  an  eccentric 


S2  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

character,  cares  nothing  for  society,  and  I  don't  even 
know  him  nor  wish  to.  Alice  will  entertain  with  the 
iFarnsworths  and  with  me,  and  if  you  neglect  your  op- 
portunities you  are  more  stupid  than  I  think  you  are, 
and " 

"  And  that  is  saying  a  good  deal,"  laughed  Deane. 
"  I  fear  that  I  shall  sink  to  yet  lower  depths  in  your 
esteem,  but  I'll  promise  to  do  the  best  I  can,  but  I  warn 
you  that's  not  much." 

Deane  plunged  with  renewed  vigor  into  his  work,  and 
had  almost  forgotten  his  conversation  with  Mrs.  Stack- 
Haven,  when  he  received  a  letter  from  her  bidding  him 
to  attend  a  reception  in  honor  of  Miss  Buckingham. 

He  recognized  her  the  instant  he  glanced  over  the 
drawing-room.  Alice  was  surrounded  by  a  bevy  of  ad- 
mirers, but  she  turned  as  he  drew  near  and  raised  her 
eyes  to  his. 

"  Dolly  said  I  wouldn't  know  you,  Mr.  Deane,"  she 
said,  frankly  offering  her  hand.  "  I  cannot  see  that  you 
have  changed  a  bit  since  we  met  you  in  dear  old  Crag- 
mere." 

"  I  have  improved,"  he  ventured,  his  nerves  tingling 
at  the  soft  pressure  of  her  hand.  "  I  am  now  an 
[American." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  my  importations,  Deane  ? " 
asked  Tom  Harkness,  glancing  proudly  at  the  two 
cousins,  his  eyes  lingering  on  Dolly.  "  I  smuggled  them. 
in  yesterday." 


STANLEY  DEANE— GENTLEMAN  53 

"  Rather  than  pay  the  fair  duty,  I  presume  ? "  he 
retorted. 

"  Deane  is  less  clumsy  with  his  compliments  than  he 
was  five  years  ago,  don't  you  think  ? "  Tom  asked,  with 
a  meaning  look  at  Dolly.  "  Do  you  remember  what  he 
said  to " 

"  Tom  Harkness !  "  exclaimed  Dolly,  putting  her 
fingers  to  his  lips.  "  Is  that  the  way  you  keep  secrets  ?  " 

The  four  had  drawn  away  from  the  others,  and  for  a 
time  they  laughed  and  chatted  as  young  couples  do  who 
are  thrown  together  after  a  lapse  of  years.  An  onlooker 
would  have  imagined  that  Deane  was  absorbed  in  the 
topics  which  arose  in  a  bewildering  succession.  His 
comments  were  sparkling,  his  humor  droll,  his  manner 
earnest  and  animated,  and  though  he  made  no  apparent 
effort  he  easily  dominated  the  group.  But  this  bril- 
liancy of  epigram  and  repartee  was  entirely  subcon- 
scious. Later  he  could  not  recall  a  thing  that  he  said, 
but  his  mind  retained  every  word  spoken  by  Alice  Buck- 
ingham, every  pose  of  her  pretty  head,  every  gesture, 
every  flash  of  quick  sympathy  from  her  dark  and  glori- 
ous eyes.  In  after  hours  and  days  the  subtle  spell  of 
her  presence  still  held  him  its  willing  victim. 

He  knew  that  he  loved  her  from  the  moment  he  looked 
into  her  eyes  and  felt  the  touch  of  her  hand.  He  had 
met  a  thousand  women  as  beautiful  as  Alice  Bucking- 
ham, yet  he  had  laughingly  withstood  the  pleasing  fire 
of  their  charms.  She  had  pleased  and  entertained  him 
in  the  days  they  were  together  during  the  fete  in  old 


54  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

England,  but  he  then  looked  on  her  as  a  girl  masquerad- 
ing as  a  woman.  That  was  the  immature  April  of  the 
rose;  this  the  early  dawning  of  a  June  when  its  petals 
turn  blushing  to  the  warm  advances  of  the  sun. 

He  loved  her!  All  his  resolutions,  all  his  carefully 
reared  defences,  all  his  stern  precepts  and  fine  discrim- 
inations tottered,  crumbled  and  vanished  before  the  soft 
light  which  lurked  in  her  eyes  and  the  smiles  which  hov- 
ered on  her  lips.  It  was  as  useless  to  urge  that  as  a 
former  sea  waif  he  had  no  right  to  love  her,  as  it  was 
to  decree  that  he  sun  should  remain  behind  a  summer 
cloud. 

Could  he  keep  from  her  the  secret  of  his  love  ?  That 
was  his  duty,  and  he  did  not  shirk  it.  It  should  be  his 
penance  for  a  crime  of  which  he  was  guiltless. 


CHAPTER   IV 

THE  MASTER  OF  THE  MILLS 

THERE  were  many  in  the  American  metropolis  who 
remembered  when  old  John  Buckingham  built  a  modest 
shop  near  First  Avenue  and  thus  laid  the  foundation  of 
the  Buckingham  fortune.  He  was  skilled  at  his  craft 
and  toiled  like  a  slave,  seeking  neither  rest  nor  amuse- 
ment, and  surprise  was  expressed  when  he  erected  a 
mansion.  His  wife  was  dead,  and  his  only  child,  Amos, 
was  abroad. 

To  a  few  close  friends  the  old  man  admitted  that  he 
had  reared  his  mansion  in  the  hope  that  it  would  so 
please  the  luxurious  tastes  of  his  son  that  he  would  be 
content  to  live  in  it  and  become  his  partner.  He  located 
this  residence  in  a  respectable  section  of  the  city  not 
far  from  the  mills,  and  took  much  pride  in  providing 
every  accessory  for  "  my  son  Amos,  who  has  been  reared 
as  a  gentleman,  which  I  was  not,"  as  he  explained  to 
those  who  shared  his  confidence. 

Before  the  mansion  was  completed  he  received  word 
that  his  son  had  married  a  French  woman  who  pos- 
sessed a  competency  in  her  own  right.  Old  John  Buck- 
ingham was  delighted.  His  son  should  live  in  the  new 


56  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

mansion,  and  children  should  comfort  his  declining 
years.  But  this  was  not  to  be. 

Amos  Buckingham  brought  his  bride  to  the  city  of 
his  birth.  For  a  month  he  accepted  the  attentions  a 
fond  father  lavished  on  him,  but  he  would  not  consent 
to  live  in  an  environment  of  toil.  Paris  suited  his 
artistic  temperament,  and  he  said  that  he  was  pursuing 
a  scientific  research  which  could  be  carried  to  success 
only  in  that  gay  capital. 

With  tears  in  his  eyes  the  father  accepted  and  pos- 
sibly believed  these  selfish  excuses.  He  stood  on  a  pier 
one  dismal  November  day  and  watched  the  young 
couple  until  they  faded  from  his  sight,  and  he  never 
saw  them  again.  Twenty  years  passed,  but  his  son  did 
not  spare  the  time  to  pay  him  a  visit. 

The  old  man  read  with  joy  of  the  birth  of  a  daughter, 
and  a  few  years  later  he  wept  when  word  came  that  the 
wife  was  dead.  He  took  pleasure  in  sending  money  to 
his  son  so  that  "  he  could  live  like  a  gentleman."  His 
shoulders  grew  more  bent,  his  step  more  feeble,  and 
there  came  a  time  when  he  could  no  longer  go  to  the 
great  mills.  The  last  words  which  hovered  on  his  lips 
framed  a  pitiful  inquiry  for  his  son  and  for  the  grand- 
daughter his  old  eyes  had  never  seen.  Not  until  it  was 
too  late  did  Amos  Buckingham  heed  the  warning  that 
he  must  sail  at  once  if  he  wished  to  see  his  father  alive. 

This  filial  neglect  caused  no  alteration  to  be  made  in 
the  will  which  left  the  mills  and  all  other  property  to 
his  son.  The  old  man  had  entered  into  negotiations  for 


THE   MASTER    OF   THE  MILLS  57 

the  sale  of  the  mills  to  a  syndicate  whose  monopoly 
would  be  complete  with  its  purchase.  He  did  not  so 
much  fear  the  trust  as  he  did  the  incapacity  of  his 
gentleman  son  to  continue  the  battle  he  had  made  for 
more  than  half  a  century.  Amos  Buckingham's  first 
step  was  to  nullify  the  results  of  these  negotiations.  He 
was  an  intense  individualist,  and  hated  trusts  with  a 
bitterness  only  exceeded  by  his  detestation  for  labor 
unions. 

The  new  master  of  the  Buckingham  mills  courted  no 
friends,  feared  no  enemies  and  relied  absolutely  on  him- 
self, neither  asking  nor  giving  quarter.  He  erected 
high  stone  walls  about  the  mansion,  pierced  them  with 
massive  iron  gates,  and  few  there  were  who  passed  be- 
tween them.  The  velvet  lawns  and  flower-lined  walks 
no  longer  regaled  the  eyes  of  those  who  passed,  and  the 
house  itself  took  on  a  forbidding  look. 

Having  determined  to  fight  the  trust  he  bent  with 
savage  energy  to  the  solving  of  the  details  of  the  busi- 
ness, and  fired  the  first  gun  by  cutting  the  price  of  every 
article  in  stock.  The  trust  met  the  cut  and  made  one  on 
its  own  account.  The  trade  recognized  it  as  a  fight  to 
the  death,  and  picked  the  trust  as  the  winner.  At  the 
end  of  six  months  of  cutting  and  slashing  the  head 
bookkeeper  informed  Buckingham  that  the  business 
showed  a  decided  loss. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said  calmly,  but  with  contracted 
brows  and  a  flash  of  his  black  eyes.  "  Tell  Wilcox  I 
wish  to  see  him  at  once." 


58  THE   BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

He  rarely  visited  the  mills,  and  conducted  the  busi- 
ness by  interviews  with  a  few  subordinates  in  the  library 
of  his  residence.  Not  all  the  foremen  knew  the  tall, 
broad-shouldered  man  who  occasionally  strode  through 
the  departments,  hardly  deigning  to  listen  to  the  ex- 
planations made  by  Wilcox,  his  general  superintendent. 
Those  who  dared  look  up  from  their  work  assumed  that 
the  stranger  was  some  distinguished  visitor,  possibly  a 
titled  Englishman.  This  was  not  the  policy  of  the  elder 
Buckingham,  whose  bent  form  and  cheerful  face  was 
familiar  to  the  thousand  who  worked  for  and  loved 
him ;  the  kindly  old  man  who  called  them  by  their  first 
names,  who  attended  weddings,  who  sorrowed  over  their 
dead,  and  who  by  innumerable  acts  of  charity  and  sym- 
pathy made  them  look  on  him  more  as  a  companion  than 
as  a  master. 

Superintendent  Wilcox  was  admitted  to  the  library 
and  stood  hat  in  hand  until  Buckingham  looked  up  from 
his  desk. 

"  I  am  paying  more  wages  than  I  care  to,"  he  said. 
"  Prepare  a  new  schedule  on  the  basis  of  an  average 
reduction  of  fifteen  per  cent." 

"  But,  Mr.  Buckingham,  I  am " 

"  There  are  no  '  buts  '  or  l  ifs  '  about  it,"  he  inter- 
rupted. "  If  you  do  not  care  to  do  as  I  tell  you  I  will 
find  some  one  who  will." 

"  I  worked  in  your  father's  factory  forty  years,  Mr. 
Buckingham,"  returned  the  old  superintendent,  looking 
fearlessly  into  the  eyes  of  his  employer,  "  and  my  life 


THE   MASTER    OF   THE   MILLS  59 

has  been  devoted  to  his  interest  and  yours.  I  must  say 
to  you  that  it  is  not  fair  to  cut  the  wages  of  your  workers 
at  this  time.  They  are  not  getting  as  much  as  those 
who  work  in  other  mills.  Rent  and  all  other  expenses 
have  increased,  and  if  you  force  them  to  strike  they 
will  be  in  the  right.  Another  thing  which " 

"  That  will  do !  You  have  outworked  your  useful- 
ness in  these  forty  years.  You  are  discharged !  Peters, 
show  him  the  door." 

A  man  named  Hunter  was  appointed  in  his  place, 
Buckingham  having  learned  that  he  was  the  most  exact- 
ing and  unpopular  foreman  in  the  mills.  Hunter 
promptly  made  the  new  schedule  and  put  it  into  effect 
without  notice.  The  union  met  and  appointed  a  com- 
mittee to  wait  on  Buckingham.  He  refused  to  see  them, 
and  his  secretary  informed  them  that  he  would  hold  no 
conferences  with  his  men,  union  or  non-union. 

The  Buckingham  mills  faced  on  a  side  street  which 
crosses  First  Avenue.  The  smoke-begrimed  walls  of 
these  workshops  covered  the  larger  part  of  one  of  the 
rectangular  blocks  which  extend  in  dreary  monotony  for 
miles  north  and  south. 

On  the  day  following  the  attempt  of  the  committee 
from  the  union  to  confer  with  Amos  Buckingham,  that 
gentleman  guided  his  motor  car  along  First  Avenue  and 
stopped  in  front  of  the  factory  office.  There  was  that  in 
the  bearing  of  the  man  who  alighted,  and  who  took  one 
swift  look  at  the  coughing  and  snorting  machine,  which 
proclaimed  him  a  person  of  distinction.  His  every 


60  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

movement  and  gesture  indicated  one  accustomed  to  com- 
mand,  one  haughtily  impatient  of  restraint. 

He  was  broad  of  shoulder,  tall,  erect  and  with  the 
figure  of  an  athlete.  Keen  dark  eyes  were  shaded  by 
heavy  eyebrows.  The  close-cropped  beard  did  not  con- 
ceal a  chin  so  square  and  aggressive  as  to  convey  the 
impression  of  regulated  savagery.  The  slightly  aquiline 
nose  and  the  low,  broad  forehead  made  for  the  harmony 
of  a  face  which  expressed  dogged,  relentless  determina- 
tion, tempered  only  by  a  respect  for  the  conventions 
which  men  of  birth  and  station  observe. 

He  entered  the  building,  and  a  moment  later  an  office 
employe  rushed  out  and  stood  guard  over  the  car  which 
already  was  surrounded  by  a  crowd  of  noisy  children. 
When  he  left  the  office  a  few  minutes  later  another  clerk 
chased  the  gamins  away,  and  waited  respectfully  while 
the  millionaire  awoke  the  motor  with  an  impatient  twist 
of  the  starting  lever,  and  then  dashed  from  the  curb 
with  a  plunge. 

For  half  a  mile  Mr.  Buckingham  threaded  his  way 
along  the  conflicting  currents  of  traffic.  His  eyes  were 
shaded  by  goggles  which  gave  his  stern  face  an  even 
more  sinister  appearance.  As  if  by  instinct  he  took 
advantage  of  every  opening,  his  foot  rarely  touching  the 
brake  lever,  skimming  along  the  congested  street  at  a 
speed  which  would  have  tested  the  nerve  and  skill  of  a 
professional  chauffeur. 

A  lumber  wagon  drawn  by  four  horses  swung  slowly 
in  from  a  side  street,  but  Buckingham  instantly  calcu- 


THE   MASTER    OF   THE   MILLS  6r 

lated  that  he  could  circle  to  the  left  and  cross  the  leaders 
in  time  to  pass  in  front  of  an  approaching  truck,  thence 
around  a  pile  of  building  material  to  the  far  side  of  the 
street  where  his  course  was  unobstructed  for  several 
hundred  yards. 

All  might  have  gone  well  had  not  the  negro  driver  of 
the  oncoming  truck  been  half  asleep.  His  horses,  left 
to  themselves,  crowded  so  far  to  the  right  that  Bucking- 
him  was  compelled  to  throw  on  extra  speed  and  make  a 
much  sharper  turn  than  he  had  calculated  on. 

The  pole  of  the  truck  missed  the  glistening  sides  of 
the  tonneau  by  inches,  the  plodding  horses  rearing  back 
and  arousing  the  stupid  driver.  In  a  flash  Buckingham 
was  past  the  lumber  pile,  and  swung  the  wheel  for  the 
reverse  curve.  The  tires  skidded  on  the  floor  of  a  mor- 
tar bed,  he  lurched  in  the  padded  seat,  lowered  his  eyes 
the  minutest  part  of  a  second  and  raised  them  to  see 
a  number  of  children  playing  in  a  sand  pile  at  the  edge 
of  the  curb  directly  in  his  path,  not  a  rod  away. 

His  estimate  of  speed,  distance  and  leeway  was  right 
to  a  trivet,  but  fate  or  chance  or  something  had  intro- 
duced a  factor  not  rightly  a  part  of  the  problem — those 
ragged  children  playing  in  the  sand. 

There  were  three  little  ones  in  the  group,  and  two  of 
them  had  gleefully  been  burying  the  third  in  the  soft, 
moist  sand — as  better-dressed  and  better-bred  children 
are  wont  to  do  while  disporting  at  the  sea-shore.  Two 
of  the  children  scrambled  to  safety,  but  the  one  who  was 


6a  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

partly  buried  in  the  sand  was  run  over  and  instantly 
killed. 

Those  who  were  on  the  spot  testified  that  he  did  not 
move  after  his  little  body  had  been  crushed  into  the 
sand.  Two  wheels  passed  over  him,  the  forward  one 
clearing  the  curb  by  a  safe  margin,  thus  proving  that 
the  gentleman  had  plenty  of  room.  Only  a  few  yards 
farther  on  he  brought  the  machine  to  a  stop  and  sprang 
out,  leaving  the  engine  to  shake  the  car  as  if  convulsed 
with  laughter  over  its  work.  Mr.  Buckingham  bent  over 
the  crushed  form,  lifted  it  from  its  living  burial-place, 
but  a  glance  told  him  that  death  had  come. 

As  particles  of  steel  flock  to  a  magnet,  so  the  ever- 
ready,  morbid  and  excited  crowd  assembled.  The  pro- 
cession of  wagons  came  to  a  halt,  a  broad-chested  police 
officer  pushed  his  way  through  the  awed  and  silent 
spectators  and  looked  at  the  body  which  had  been  placed 
on  a  shawl  offered  by  a  sobbing  woman. 

"  Call  the  ambulance,  Ryan !  "  he  shouted  to  another 
officer  who  appeared  on  the  edge  of  the  crowd. 

"  It's  useless,  the  boy  is  dead,"  said  Buckingham. 

"  Whose  kid  is  it  ?  "  demanded  the  officer,  addressing 
those  who  formed  the  inner  circles. 

The  voice  was  gruff  but  there  was  a  tremor  in  it. 
There  was  no  answer  to  his  question. 

"  Whose  kid  is  this  ? "  he  repeated  in  a  louder  voice. 
"  Ye've  been  starin'  at  him  long  enough  to  know.  Who 
was  playin'  with  him  ?  " 

"  Please,  sir,  it's  Jimmy  Fischer !  "  faltered  a  piping 


THE   MASTER    OF   THE   MILLS  63 

voice.  "  He  was  playin'  wid  Ikey  Rosenburg  an'  me 
when  de  auto  hit  us." 

"  August  Fischer's  boy  Jimmy !  "  wailed  a  woman 
who  had  vainly  been  attempting  to  crowd  forward. 
"  An'  his  mother  about  to  have  another  one  soon ! 
A-a-h-h!  A-a-h-h!  It  will  kill  the  poor  woman,  an' 
she  my  neighbor  in  the  next  flat,  an'  his  father  will  go 
crazy !  " 

A  mutter  rose  from  the  brawny  teamsters  and  others 
who  composed  the  crowd.  Several  officers  fought  their 
way  to  the  centre,  amongst  them  a  sergeant  who  took 
charge  of  affairs. 

"  Did  you  run  over  this  boy  ?  "  he  demanded.  Buck- 
ingham's face  darkened  and  his  eyes  flashed  at  the 
menacing  of  the  gathering  mob. 

"  Unfortunately,  I  did,"  was  his  calm  reply. 

"  I  must  place  you  under  arrest,"  said  the  officer. 
"  What's  your  name  ?  " 

Buckingham  handed  him  a  card,  the  sergeant  glanced 
at  it  and  looked  intently  into  the  face  of  his  prisoner. 

"  Amos  Buckingham  ?  "  he  reflected  aloud.  "  Are  you 
the  son  of  old  John  Buckingham  who  built  the  mills 
and  died  not  long  ago  ?  " 

He  slightly  inclined  his  head  and  gazed  fearlessly  at 
the  swaying  crowd. 

"  August  Fischer  works  in  yer  mills !  "  shouted  a 
woman,  raising  her  big  red  arms  and  shaking  her  finger 
at  him,  "It's  the  likes  of  youze  that  works  men  to 


<54  THE  BOTTOM   OF    THE    WELL 

death  an'  murthers  their  chil-dhren  wid  them  chug-chug 
ca-ars !  If  I  was  a  man  I'd " 

"  Stand  back  there !  "  fiercely  ordered  the  sergeant, 
drawing  his  club  and  swinging  it  over  the  heads  of  those 
who  surged  toward  him.  "  Force  'em  back,  men ! 
Move  on  there !  Move  on  or  I'll  beat  yer  block  off !  " 

There  arose  the  sound  of  clanging  metal.  Those  on 
the  edge  of  the  crowd  had  fallen  on  the  automobile  with 
bricks  and  other  weapons  at  hand,  but  they  scattered 
when  the  police  charged  them.  An  ambulance  wagon 
dashed  up  the  street,  the  officers  clubbed  those  who  sur- 
rounded the  Buckingham  car,  the  sergeant  and  two 
officers  piled  into  it  and  stood  with  drawn  revolvers 
while  their  prisoner  threw  on  power  and  slowly  mowed 
a  path  through  the  rioters  and  spectators. 

Oaths  and  jeers  followed  them.  A  brick  struck  the 
rear  of  the  car,  but  in  a  moment  they  were  out  of  the 
danger  zone.  The  sergeant  replaced  his  gun  and  turned 
to  one  of  his  men. 

"  This  August  Fischer  is  the  fellow  who  makes 
speeches  to  the  men,  isn't  he  ?  "  he  asked,  mopping  his 
brow. 

"  He's  the  one,"  was  the  reply.  "  I've  seen  him 
walkin'  with  the  kid  what  was — was  runned  over;  I've 
seen  him  often.  He's  an  agitator." 

"  He's  a  soc'list  or  an  anarchist  or  somethin'  like 
that,"  volunteered  the  third  policeman,  "  an'  he's  quite 
a  talker." 


THE   MASTER    OF   THE   MILLS  65 

"  Do  you  know  anything  about  him,  Mr.  Bucking- 
ham ?  "  asked  the  sergeant. 

"  I  do  not  know  any  of  my  men,"  was  the  curt  reply. 
"  Which  way  is  the  station  ?  I  wish  to  arrange  for  bail 
without  delay." 


A  small  coffin  rested  on  a  table  in  the  centre  of  a 
plainly  furnished  room.  From  an  adjacent  chamber 
came  the  muffled  sound  of  sobbing.  Once  in  a  while 
the  door  of  this  chamber  opened  and  a  young  woman 
with  a  tear-stained  face  looked  appealingly  at  a  man 
who  paced  swiftly  up  and  down  the  room.  There  was 
in  this  ceaseless  stride  the  supple  grace  and  strength  of 
a  caged  panther.  His  eyes  were  dry,  his  lips  set,  his 
arms  folded  and  his  head  slightly  bowed. 

Again  the  door  of  the  chamber  opened,  the  girl  gazed 
wildly  at  him  for  a  moment  and  then  with  a  cry  threw 
her  arms  about  him. 

"  Oh,  father,  father !  "  she  moaned,  clinging  to  him. 
"  Speak  to  me ;  speak  to  mamma !  Tell  us  that  it  is  not 
true !  Jimmy  is  not  dead ;  he  must  not  be  dead !  " 

"  Go  to  your  mother,  Annieta,  and  let  me  alone," 
August  Fischer  said,  gently  releasing  her  arms.  "  Be 
a  good  girl,  my  pet." 

For  an  hour  he  kept  up  that  dreadful  pace,  pausing 
now  and  then  to  look  at  the  waxlike  face  of  his  dead. 
From  the  street  came  the  strains  of  a  hurdy-gurdy  play- 
ing negro  melodies  and  other  popular  airs.  Death  was 
5 


66  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

his  guest,  but  drunken  men  shouted  from  the  pavements 
as  if  life  were  eternal,  and  the  blare  of  the  concert  hall 
never  sounded  louder. 

The  outer  door  slowly  opened  and  a  man  in  the 
garb  of  a  workman  stepped  inside  and  softly  closed  it. 

"  Wallace  Dare  is  out  there  and  says  he  must  see 
you,"  he  whispered. 

"  Let  him  in,"  was  the  quiet  response. 

The  young  man  who  entered  impulsively  clasped  the 
hands  of  the  stricken  father,  tears  streaming  down  his 
cheeks. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  say,"  he  hesitated.  "  I  don't 
know  how  to  tell  you  of  my  sorrow  and  sympathy." 

"  I  will  tell  you  how  you  can  sympathize  with  me," 
exclaimed  Fischer,  moving  swiftly  to  the  opposite  side 
of  the  coffin.  "  This  is  how !  "  raising  his  clinched 
hand.  "  Swear  with  me  eternal  vengeance  against  all 
the  Buckinghams,  all  the  capitalists  and  exploiters,  the 
ravishers  of  women,  the  murderers  of  little  children; 
swear  war  and  death  against  them  and  their  system! 
Do  you  swear  ?  " 

"  I  swear !  "  reverently  exclaimed  Dare. 

"  Hail  to  the  coming  of  Liberty,  Equality  and  Fra- 
ternity !  "  cried  Fischer  with  an  impassioned  gesture. 
"  Long  live  Anarchy !  " 

"  Long  live  Anarchy !  "  repeated  Dare,  his  eyes  flash- 
ing. 

"  Long  live  Anarchy ! "  echoed  the  workman  who 
stood  guard  at  the  door. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  EIOT 

THE  tragedy  just  described  occurred  a  few  days  after 
Mrs.  Stack-Haven's  reception,  in  which  Deane  met 
Alice  Buckingham. 

He  had  never  met  Amos  Buckingham,  and  until 
trouble  was  threatened  in  the  mills  knew  little  of  him, 
except  that  he  was  the  father  of  the  charming  girl  he 
had  entertained  in  Cragmere,  as  Mr.  Buckingham  had 
returned  to  the  United  States  some  months  before 
Alice's  visit  at  the  Deanes'. 

When  a  wage  reduction  was  proposed,  August  Fischer 
called  on  Deane  and  asked  him  to  use  his  influence  to 
effect  such  a  compromise  as  would  prevent  a  strike. 
Deane  made  an  investigation  which  convinced  him  that 
the  men  were  in  the  right,  and  made  several  fruitless 
attempts  to  have  an  interview  with  Buckingham. 

On  the  night  following  the  death  of  August  Fischer's 
boy,  the  union  of  the  Buckingham  mills  employes  met 
and  voted  to  go  on  strike.  The  few  timid  ones  who 
pleaded  for  delay  were  overwhelmed  by  the  angry  ma- 
jority, and  the  motion  to  go  out  on  the  morrow  was 
carried  with  a  yell. 


68  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

There  were  calls  for  Fischer,  but  a  hush  came  over 
the  excited  throng  when  an  aged  workman  arose  and  in 
simple  language  told  of  the  death  of  his  son.  Many  a 
toiler  clinched  his  hands  and  silently  cursed  the  master 
of  the  mills.  It  was  voted  to  hold  a  mass  meeting  on 
the  Friday  evening  following. 

The  committee  engaged  a  large  hall  not  far  from  the 
mills,  and  a  crowd  gathered  and  waited  for  the  doors  to 
open.  It  was  early  in  June,  and  though  it  was  nearly 
eight  o'clock  the  twilight  yet  lingered.  Noisy  children 
played  in  the  street,  mere  babies  wheeled  yet  smaller 
ones  in  crude  carts  or  carried  them  in  their  tiny  arms, 
while  bare-headed  and  swarthy  women  in  short  skirts 
and  gaudy  blouses  elbowed  their  way  past  workmen  who 
listened,  pipes  in  mouths,  to  their  more  voluble  com- 
panions. 

The  clock  in  an  adjacent  steeple  tolled  the  hour,  and 
a  murmur  arose  as  many  eyes  were  directed  at  the  un- 
opened doors  of  the  hall.  Another  quarter  of  an  hour 
passed  and  the  street  was  crowded  with  impatient  men. 

"  What  are  we  standing  here  for  ? "  shouted  one  of 
them,  mounting  a  beer  barrel.  "  Why  don't  they  open 
the  doors  ?  Where's  the  committee  ?  " 

No  one  seemed  to  know.  A  moment  later  one  of  the 
doors  swung  outward  and  a  stoop-shouldered  man  stood 
in  the  opening.  The  crowd  gave  a  yell  and  surged  for- 
ward. 

"  Ye  can't  get  in !  There  ain't  no  meetin'  here  to- 
night !  "  yelled  the  janitor,  as  he  stepped  back  and  slid 


THE   RIOT  69 

the  bolt  in  place.  Those  in  the  front  rank  hurled  them- 
selves against  the  oak  barrier,  but  policemen  forced  the 
crowd  back. 

"  Fellow-workers  and  friends !  "  shouted  a  man  who 
had  scaled  a  pile  of  bricks  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
street,  and  who  waved  his  hand  over  the  puzzled  and 
excited  crowd. 

"  Fischer !  Fischer !  Hurray  for  Gus  Fischer !  " 
were  the  greetings  from  the  scores  who  recognized  him. 

A  leader  stood  before  them.  As  he  removed  his  hat 
clusters  of  light  brown  hair  fell  over  a  smooth,  high  fore- 
head. His  features  had  a  delicacy  which  would  have 
suggested  weakness  were  it  not  for  the  magnetic  eyes, 
the  straight  nose,  the  deep  chest  and  the  supple  muscles 
which  his  garments  did  not  wholly  conceal.  His  fingers 
were  long,  white  and  tapered.  He  was  dressed  in  a 
well-fitting  suit  of  blue,  and  his  negligee  shirt  was  so 
fashioned  as  to  disclose  a  white  but  corded  neck,  below 
which  a  carelessly  but  tastefully  adjusted  red  scarf 
flaunted. 

As  if  by  magic  the  crowd  had  trebled.  Loiterers  from 
side  streets  and  the  denizens  of  a  hundred  tenement 
houses  were  drawn  to  this  centre.  Saloons  disgorged 
their  patrons  and  hundreds  of  tawny  Italians  chattered, 
gesticulated  and  laughed  at  a  spectacle  which  had  no 
meaning  to  them.  The  daylight  had  faded  so  that  the 
yellow  gas  jets  cast  faint  shadows. 

Again  Fischer  raised  his  hand  and  a  spell  of  silence 


70  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

crept  in  rapidly  widening  circles.  It  is  given  to  few  to 
exercise  this  magnetic  influence. 

"  Fellow-workers  and  friends,"  he  repeated  in  clear, 
ringing  tones,  "  we  are  denied  admission  to  this  hall 
which  your  committee  engaged  and  paid  for.  You 
know  who  did  this.  Our  masters  may  prevent  us  from 
holding  a  meeting  in  a  public  hall,  but  they  do  not  yet 
own  the  sky.  There's  a  vacant  lot  not  far  away.  Fol- 
low me !  " 

Cries  of  anger  were  mingled  with  cheers  for  the 
speaker,  but  a  minute  later  the  crowd  surged  down  the 
street  with  Fischer  and  others  of  the  committee  in  the 
lead.  On  a  corner  was  a  vacant  lot,  as  if  a  tooth  had 
been  extracted  from  the  ugly  jaw  of  the  street.  For 
some  months  this  space  had  served  as  a  store  ground  for 
disabled  trucks  and  wagons,  and  one  of  these  was  pressed 
into  service  as  a  speaker's  stand.  Torches  were  bor- 
rowed from  pedler  carts,  and  volunteers  held  them 
aloft  on  the  improvised  platform.  A  large  American 
flag  was  produced  and  so  draped  as  to  form  a  back- 
ground to  the  orators. 

Several  speeches  were  made  detailing  the  history  of 
the  strike,  pleading  the  justice  of  its  cause  and  urging 
the  men  to  stand  firm.  There  were  cheers  when  it  was 
asserted  that  Buckingham  had  been  unable  to  open  his 
mills.  There  were  loud  calls  for  Fischer,  who  responded 
with  an  address  which  set  the  strikers  wild.  He  made 
not  the  slightest  reference  to  the  death  of  his  son. 

"  Who  is  this  man  Buckingham  ?  "   he  demanded. 


THE   RIOT  7I 

"He  has  not  lifted  a  finger  to  earn  one  penny  of  the 
millions  with  which  he  seeks  to  oppress  you.  He  reaps 
where  he  has  not  sown,  and  squanders  that  which  has 
been  withheld  from  you.  Because  you  will  not  tamely 
submit  to  eat  less  meat  so  that  he  may  pile  up  millions 
he  cannot  use;  because  you  will  not  take  bread  from 
your  children  and  milk  from  the  mouths  of  your  babies 
so  that  he  may  drink  wines  of  a  choicer  vintage ;  because 
you  will  not  abandon  your  union,  bow  your  heads  in  the 
dust  and  renounce  your  manhood,  this  tyrant  would 
starve  you  into  submission.  Men  of  the  mills,  a  time 
will  come  when " 

There  was  a  commotion  on  the  left  flank  of  the  crowd. 
It  started  with  scattered  cries  and  swelled  into  a  roar. 
The  flickering  torches  on  the  platform  made  it  difficult 
for  Fischer  to  discern  the  cause  of  this  interruption. 
He  saw  the  dense  mass  part  in  waves  like  water  before 
the  impact  of  a  ship,  and  then  in  the  midst  of  upraised 
arms  and  angry  faces  he  saw  the  gray  helmets  of  a 
squad  of  police  and  the  flash  of  menacing  night  sticks. 
A  young  man  leaped  from  the  crowd  to  the  wagon  and 
pushed  him  aside. 

The  newcomer  on  the  platform  was  Wallace  Dare, 
the  friend  who  had  taken  the  oath  with  Fischer  over  the 
coffin  of  his  son. 

Dare  was  a  stranger  to  most  of  those  who  faced  him, 
but  he  cared  not  for  that.  The  light  and  love  of  battle 
gleamed  in  his  eyes.  He  was  of  medium  height  and 
athletic  build.  A  small  moustache  and  closely  trimmed 


72  THE   BOTTOM   OF    THE    WELL 

Van  Dyke  beard  did  little  to  offset  the  youthfulness  of 
his  face.  He  grasped  a  torch  from  the  hands  of  one  of 
the  men  and  waved  it  frantically  over  the  heads  of  his 
audience. 

"  Are  there  Americans  here  with  blood  in  their  veins 
instead  of  milk  ?  "  he  shouted.  "  The  police  are  attack- 
ing this  orderly  meeting.  Strike  back,  men,  if  you  be 
not  dogs  and  cowards !  The  police  are  the  law-breakers ! 
Stand  to  your  rights  on  your  own  ground !  Now  is  the 
time  to  show  whether  your  mother  bred  spaniels  or  tiger 
whelps !  Are  you  whining  women  to  cower  before  clubs 
in  the  hands  of  paid  thugs  ?  Come  on,  boys !  " 

His  voice  rose  shrill  above  the  tumult,  and  his  appeal 
was  answered  by  a  sullen  snarl  as  of  an  animal  at  bay. 
The  police  had  nearly  reached  the  wagon,  when  Dare 
severed  the  lamp  of  the  torch  with  a  blow,  and  with  the 
stout  handle  as  a  weapon  leaped  at  the  head  of  the 
officer  in  command.  Fischer  had  already  mingled  in  the 
fray. 

Courage  is  as  contagious  as  fear,  and  hundreds  who 
had  faltered  now  stood  firm.  The  rioters  armed  them- 
selves with  stakes  and  debris  from  an  adjoining  build- 
ing which  was  being  dismantled.  The  mob  did  not 
retreat  before  the  police.  Their  sticks  beat  a  tattoo  on 
hard  heads  and  brawny  shoulders,  but  blow  was  an- 
swered with  blow.  Several  patrolmen  were  knocked 
senseless  with  bricks,  and  half  of  them  fought  with  blood 
streaming  down  their  faces.  Scores  of  prostrate  strik- 


THE   RIOT  7  3 

ers  showed  that  the  officers  had  not  struggled  in  vain, 
but  the  spirit  of  the  mob  was  still  unbroken. 

Dare  was  in  the  thickest  of  the  fight.  Twice  he  was 
borne  to  the  ground  and  kicked  and  beaten,  but  each 
time  the  mob  rallied  and  swept  over  his  body,  carrying 
his  assailants  with  them.  Then  he  would  spring  to  his 
feet  and  fight  silently  and  doggedly,  the  fever  of  battle 
throbbing  in  every  nerve  and  muscle. 

There  came  to  the  ears  of  the  writhing,  bruised  and 
crazed  combatants  the  clanging  of  gongs  and  the  hoof 
beats  of  horses.  The  almost  exhausted  police  knew  that 
reinforcements  were  at  hand  and  fell  on  the  strikers 
with  renewed  vigor.  Forty  reserves  leaped  from  patrol 
wagons  and  dashed  in,  clubbing  right  and  left  without 
mercy. 

Dare  had  raised  his  stick  to  dash  into  this  fresh  force 
when  he  felt  his  weapon  grasped  from  his  hand.  With 
an  inarticulate  cry  he  turned  to  face  this  new  enemy 
in  the  rear.  A  sinewy  hand  clutched  him  by  the  throat 
and  he  looked  into  the  stern  eyes  of  Deane. 

"  Enough  of  this,  you  fool !  "  he  exclaimed,  changing 
his  grip  so  as  to  give  his  captive  a  chance  to  breathe. 
"  Collect  what  senses  you  have  left,  and  come  with  me. 
Come  on ;  I'll  stand  no  nonsense !  " 

Dare  was  too  exhausted  to  resist  and  seemed  under 
the  spell  of  the  man  who  had  appeared  at  this  opportune 
moment.  Deane  half  dragged  him  to  the  street.  The 
blood-stained  face  and  dishevelled  garments  of  his  cap- 


74  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

tive  attracted  the  notice  of  an  officer  who  halted  them. 
He  hesitated  when  he  recognized  Deane. 

"  It's  all  right,  officer." 

"  It's  all  right  if  you  say  so,  Mr.  Deane,"  growled 
the  officer,  with  another  suspicious  glance  at  Dare. 
"  Innocent  spectator,  eh  ?  "  with  a  rather  malicious  grin 
at  the  leader  of  the  rioters.  "  Them's  the  ducks  that 
allers  gets  it  in  the  neck.  Back  there !  Keep  back  there 
or  I'U " 

He  turned  to  check  the  onrush  of  a  new  swarm  of 
curiosity  seekers,  and  a  minute  later  the  two  were  well 
out  of  the  melee.  They  walked  in  silence  until  they 
came  to  the  comparatively  deserted  section  of  a  street  en- 
closed by  the  walls  of  warehouses.  The  last  sound  of  the 
riot  had  died  away,  and  a  calm,  full  moon  rode  well  up 
in  the  eastern  sky. 

"  You're  a  damn  fool !  "  remarked  Deane,  halting 
abruptly  within  the  light  of  a  street  lamp. 

"  Thanks,  old  chap,"  returned  Dare.  "  Why  say  so 
obvious  a  thing  in  so  serious  a  tone  ?  " 

"  Are  you  hurt  ?  "  grasping  him  by  the  arm  and  turn- 
ing his  face  to  the  light. 

"  I  think  not ;  at  least  not  much,"  replied  the  other, 
shaking  himself  as  if  arousing  from  a  trance.  "  Fact  is 
I  haven't  had  time  to  find  out.  Where  the  devil  did  you 
come  from  ?  I  say,  Deane,  that  was  a  bully  scrap  while 
it  lasted !  Were  you  in  it  ?  " 

"  To  the  extent  of  trying  to  save  you  from  a  broken 
head.  Where  does  that  blood  come  from  ?  "  He  looked 


THE   RIOT  7S 

intently  at  a  matted  lock  of  hair  which  fell  from  beneath 
Dare's  battered  cap. 

"  All  I  know  is  that  I  have  a  ripping  headache,"  he 
wearily  responded. 

"  You  also  have  a  three-inch  scalp  wound  and  a  bruise 
as  big  as  a  goose-egg,"  Deane  said,  after  examining  the 
other's  head. 

"  There  are  police  heads  with  lumps  larger  than 
that,"  declared  Dare  with  a  defiant  laugh.  "  They  had 
no  right  to  attack  that  meeting.  This  is  not  Eussia! 
If  I " 

"  We'll  not  discuss  that  now.  Find  a  surgeon,  have 
that  cut  dressed  and  go  home." 

"  That  sounds  reasonable,"  admitted  Dare,  after  a 
moment's  reflection.  "  I  know  a  chap  who  can  do  this 
job  as  well  as  a  surgeon,  and  he'll  ask  no  questions. 
Come  with  me,  will  you  ?  " 

"Where  is  he?" 

"  At <  The  Well.'  " 

"  '  The  Well '  ?  "  repeated  Deane.     "  What's  that  ?  " 

"  It's  a  great  place,  and  you'll  be  interested  in  it 
Come  with  me ;  it's  not  far." 

Deane  looked  at  his  watch  and  consented.  He  had 
known  Wallace  Dare  for  years,  meeting  him  first  in 
London,  at  which  time  his  father  was  a  wealthy  rail- 
road president.  There  came  a  day  of  panic  and  ruin, 
and  when  it  was  ended  the  elder  Dare  was  worse  than 
a  bankrupt.  Across  his  proud  name  was  drawn  the 
smirch  of  unmerited  disgrace.  He  turned  his  last  dol- 


76  THE  BOTTOM    OF    THE    W 'ELL 

lar  over  to  his  creditors,  wrote  a  tear-stained  letter  to 
his  son,  and  placed  a  pistol  to  his  head. 

The  logic  of  this  and  other  events  transfused  the 
dilettante  radicalism  of  the  young  artist  into  that  of  a 
more  virulent  type. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  WELL 

DEANE  followed  his  friend  into  a  small  hotel  which 
differed  in  no  essential  particular  from  the  prevailing 
type  in  that  section  of  the  East  Side.  It  was  reasonably 
clean,  and  the  chairs  surrounding  the  tables  were  large 
and  comfortable.  A  number  of  men  were  engaged  in  a 
game  of  pinocle  with  an  interest  so  great  that  they  did 
not  notice  the  new  arrivals. 

"  Where's  the  boss  ?  "  Dare  asked  of  the  man  in 
charge. 

"  Went  out,  but  he'll  be  back  soon,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Tell  him  I'm  in  The  Well  and  wish  to  see  him  as 
soon  as  he  comes  in.  This  way,  Deane,"  and  they  en- 
tered a  narrow  and  unlighted  passage,  at  the  end  of 
which  was  a  door  which  he  unlocked. 

"  This  is  The  Well,"  announced  Dare,  lighting  a  gas 
jet. 

They  stood  in  a  room — if  it  could  be  called  a  room — 
of  most  peculiar  construction.'  It  was  rectangular  in 
shape,  with  an  area  of  eighteen  by  twenty-four  feet,  but 
its  remarkable  feature  was  its  height.  Sixty  feet  above 
him  Deane  made  out  the  dim  outlines  of  a  skylight.  The 


;8  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

floor  was  of  clay,  cool,  smooth  and  hard.  The  four  walls 
rose  sheer  without  a  window  or  visible  opening  of  any 
kind  save  the  small  door  through  which  they  had  en- 
tered. Swaying  gently  from  a  rope,  which  disappeared 
in  the  gloom  above,  was  a  huge  bucket  fashioned  from 
an  oil  barrel  and  skilfully  encrusted  with  imitation  moss 
and  lichens.  Its  bottom  was  high  enough  so  that  one 
could  readily  pass  under  it.  There  was  no  one  in  this 
place  when  they  entered,  and  Deane  looked  curiously 
about  him. 

"  If  I  had  the  naming  of  this  compartment,"  he  said, 
peering  up  the  gloomy  sides,  "  I  should  call  it  '  The 
Chimney '  rather  than  The  Well.  Who  was  so  insane 
as  to  construct  it  ?  " 

"  The  tradition  is  that  it  was  intended  as  an  addition 
to  this  establishment,"  explained  Dare.  "  It  seems  that 
these  walls  were  up  and  the  floors  in  when  a  fire  br6ke 
out  and  gutted  it  from  basement  to  roof.  Then  the 
owner  abandoned  his  scheme  in  disgust,  or  went  broke 
or  something;  anyhow  this  was  about  the  way  it  was 
when  Fischer  and  I  ran  across  it.  A  number  of  us 
clubbed  together  and  bricked  up  the  windows,  put  in  a 
skylight  and  cut  ventilators  along  the  base  of  the  outer 
walls.  This  is  the  coolest  place  in  town,  and  has  the 
hottest  discussions." 

"  I  wish  the  boss  would  come,"  he  continued.  "  My 
head  is  not  feeling  any  better.  Make  yourself  at  home, 
and  I'll  see  if  I  can  find  him." 

He  closed  the  door  behind  him  and  Deane  proceeded 


THE    WELL  79 

to  inspect  this  singular  place.  Benches  extended  along 
two  sides  of  The  Well,  and  in  one  corner  was  a  crude 
bookcase.  On  a  table  were  magazines,  pamphlets  and 
papers,  and  a  glance  showed  that  they  were  a  part  of 
the  propaganda  of  revolutionary  societies.  There  were 
two  smaller  tables,  a  piano  and  a  dozen  chairs. 

The  brick  walls  were  covered  for  a  height  of  twelve 
feet  or  more  with  portraits,  engravings,  posters,  car- 
toons and  photographs,  and  most  of  them  had  revolution- 
ary significance.  The  place  of  honor  was  reserved  for 
a  well-executed  portrait  of  Karl  Marx  from  the  brush 
of  Dare.  He  had  also  contributed  one  of  Ferdinand 
LaSalle,  the  hero  of  the  pioneer  German  radicals  and 
the  Murat  of  social  unrest.  Draped  in  black  were 
photographs  of  Spies,  Parsons,  Engel,  Fisher  and  Ling, 
the  convicted  and  executed  Chicago  radicals  who  were 
involved  in  the  Haymarket  tragedy.  Twined  about 
these  shrouded  frames  was  a  hangman's  rope,  ending  in 
a  noose  with  its  conventional  nine  loops. 

A  long  shelf  contained  an  array  of  drinking  mugs 
and  steins.  Some  member  had  contributed  a  pair  of 
fencing  foils,  and  a  section  of  the  wall  was  reserved  for 
a  collection  of  antique  muskets,  blunderbusses,  daggers 
and  other  weapons  of  a  vanished  age. 

"  Evidently  the  headquarters  of  a  set  of  amateur  an- 
archists," mused  Deane.  "  It  cannot  be  a  secret  society, 
else  I  would  not  be  admitted.  Dare  will  get  himself 
into  trouble." 

He  heard  the  click  of  a  key,  the  door  opened  and  a 


So  THE   BOTTOM   OF    THE    WELL 

small  man  entered  and  stepped  forward,  a  welcoming 
smile  on  his  face. 

"  I  am  with  Mr.  Dare,  and  am  waiting  for  him  to 
return,"  explained  Deane. 

The  other  placed  his  hands  on  his  lips,  made  an  in- 
articulate sound  and  a  gesture  which  told  that  he  was 
deaf  and  dumb.  The  mute  drew  a  card  from  his  pocket, 
wrote  rapidly  and  handed  it  to  the  visitor.  In  an  upper 
corner  was  printed,  "  I  am  deaf  and  dumb,"  and  below 
was  "  Ivan  Malakoff,  Typewriter  and  Copyist."  In 
pencil  he  had  written,  "  I  cannot  entertain  you,  but  you 
are  welcome." 

Deane  wrote  a  brief  explanation  on  a  card,  the  mute 
read  it,  smiled  and  shook  hands  again,  and  at  that 
moment  Dare  entered. 

"  I've  found  him,"  he  announced,  "  and  he's  gone 
after  some  stuff  from  the  drugstore.  Hello,  Dummy !  " 
he  saluted  with  a  rapid  movement  of  his  fingers.  "  This 
is  Dummy  Malakoff,  Deane.  He  doesn't  say  much,  but 
he's  one  of  the  most  active  members  of  The  Well." 

Again  a  key  was  applied  to  the  lock,  and  a  man  en- 
tered whose  head  barely  passed  beneath  the  opening. 
He  walked  directly  to  Dare,  placed  a  chair  so  that  he 
would  have  the  full  benefit  of  the  light,  and  rather 
gruffly  told  his  patient  to  be  seated.  It  was  "  the  boss," 
as  Dare  had  designated  him,  and  he  placed  a  tray  con- 
taining bottles,  cotton  and  bandages  on  the  table  and 
bent  his  long  frame  over,  and  with  clumsy  tenderness 
examined  the  wound. 


THE   WELL  81 

He  looked  little  like  a  hotel-keeper  and  less  like  a 
surgeon.  His  face  had  the  tan  and  his  skin  the  texture 
which  comes  from  years  of  exposure  to  sun  and  sea.  He 
went  silently  at  his  task  with  the  air  of  one  who  knows 
his  business. 

The  mute  stood  close  by  and  watched  patient  and  sur- 
geon intently.  So  keen  was  his  sympathy  that  he  shud- 
dered and  clasped  his  hands  every  time  the  saloon- 
keeper-surgeon touched  the  gaping  slit  in  the  scalp. 
Dare  kept  up  a  running  fire  of  questions,  exclamations 
and  observations  intended  to  show  his  contempt  for  the 
ordeal,  but  his  pale  face  and  the  occasional  twitching  of 
his  lips  were  indications  of  his  lack  of  enjoyment  of  it. 
The  saloon-keeper  made  no  replies,  but  "  Dummy " 
talked  silently  to  himself  with  fingers,  lips  and  eyes. 

Had  a  stranger  watched  Deane  during  this  operation 
he  would  have  been  puzzled  to  account  for  his  actions. 
When  the  amateur  surgeon  entered  the  room  Deane 
gazed  at  him  long  and  searchingly.  As  he  came  into  the 
full  glare  of  the  light,  the  young  lawyer  stepped  nerv- 
ously forward,  his  eyes  still  fixed  on  the  dark  features 
of  the  owner  of  The  Well.  The  latter  raised  his  eyes 
for  an  instant  and  looked  into  the  face  of  the  one  who 
made  him  the  object  of  such  fixed  scrutiny,  whereupon 
Deane  looked  away  and  turned  carelessly  as  if  he  had 
been  deluded  for  a  moment  into  mistaking  the  identity 
of  the  last  arrival. 

He  strolled  to  a  far  part  of  the  room,  and  from  its 
shadows  resumed  his  study  of  the  man  who  had  come  to 
6 


82  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

\ 

the  relief  of  Dare.     Then,  as  if  the  victim  of  some 

subtle  fascination,  he  slowly  and  silently  approached 
and  stood  so  that  he  could  watch  every  movement.  Once 
or  twice  Dare  spoke  to  him,  but  he  made  no  answer. 

There  was  a  noise  in  the  hallway  and  a  number  of 
members  of  the  club  entered.  They  clustered  about  the 
patient  and  his  surgeon  and  plied  them  with  questions. 
Deane  paid  no  attention  to  them  but  went  to  the  far 
side  of  the  room  and  gazed  vacantly  at  a  faded  print  of 
"  The  Fall  of  the  Bastile."  He  was  aroused  by  a  voice 
and  by  the  feel  of  a  heavy  hand  laid  on  his  shoulder. 

"  '  The  Fall  of  the  Bastile  '  must  have  a  remarkable 
fascination  for  you,"  the  voice  said,  and  he  looked  into 
the  bearded  face  of  Themistocles  Saxon. 

Saxon  was  a  lawyer  with  a  strange  history  and 
stranger  views  and  habits,  whom  Deane  had  met  many 
times,  but  had  never  thought  to  find  in  this  peculiar  en- 
vironment. On  subsequent  reflection  he  decided  that 
The  Well  was  admirably  adapted  to  one  of  Saxon's 
temperament  and  beliefs. 

"  It  is  a  fine  old  print,"  said  Deane,  recovering  from 
his  abstraction  and  looking  at  the  picture  for  the  first 
time. 

"  I  thought  of  that  affair  of  the  Bastile  this  evening 
while  watching  the  police  club  Dare  and  his  toiling 
friends,"  continued  Saxon,  his  mustache  lifting  in  an 
ironical  smile.  "  You  were  there,  so  Dare  tells  me. 
Men  who  have  nothing  better  to  do  than  tamely  listen 
to  a  recapitulation  of  their  wrongs  deserve  to  be  clubbed, 


THE    WELL  83 

and  policemen  give  a  quid  pro  quo  for  their  salaries  by 
no  method  more  compensating.  A  clout  on  the  head 
with  a  stout  hickory  club  is  interest  accumulated  on 
whimpering." 

"  The  police  had  no  legal  right  to  attack  and  break  up 
that  meeting,"  declared  Deane. 

"  They  had  no  legal  right,  eh  ? "  laughed  Saxon. 
"  That  makes  their  action  all  the  more  praiseworthy. 
They  had  the  might,  and  that  was  sufficient.  People 
who  mouth  and  whine  about  their  rights  and  who  con- 
sult a  printed  list  alleged  to  contain  them,  simply  adver- 
tise the  fact  that  they  have  none  which  a  man  of  force 
and  courage  is  bound  to  respect.  Did  the  Bastile  fall 
on  account  of  volleys  of  oratory  addressed  to  unarmed 
and  open-mouthed  menials?  Was  it  dismantled  stone 
by  stone  because  some  anaemic  reformer  circulated  a 
petition  ?  Does  that  picture  tell  that  sort  of  a  story  ?  It 
does  not.  Dare  had  the  right  idea  to-night,  but  there 
were  not  men  enough  among  those  curs  to  help  him  out. 
Let's  watch  Bill  sew  his  head  up." 

Whatever  Deane  thought  of  this  tirade  he  made  no 
reply  to  it,  but  joined  those  who  were  watching  the  final 
stage  of  the  operation.  Defying  the  pain,  Dare  looked 
up  and  laughed. 

"  Make  yourself  at  home  in  the  bottom  of  The  Well, 
Deane,"  he  said,  gritting  his  teeth  as  the  thread  rasped 
through. 

"  Do  your  talking  when  I'm  finished,"  ordered  the 


84  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

elongated  surgeon.  In  a  few  minutes  the  job  was  ended, 
and  Dare  though  pale  sprang  resolutely  to  his  feet. 

"  You're  all  right  as  a  surgeon,  Bill,"  he  declared. 
"  I  want  you  to  meet  an  old  chum  of  mine.  Deane,  this 
is  Bill !  He  has  another  name,  but  we  all  call  him  just 
plain  '  Bill/  " 

"  My  name  is  William  Parker,"  he  said.  "  I  am  glad 
to  meet  you,  Mr.  Deane.  Mr.  Dare  has  spoken  of  you 
many  times." 

His  manner  was  frank  and  gentlemanly,  and  the  hand 
clasp  firm  with  the  strength  of  sinewy  fingers.  For  a 
moment  Deane  was  at  loss  for  a  reply,  and  then  made 
some  conventional  response.  Parker  warned  Dare  to 
keep  his  head  well  bandaged,  collected  his  bottles  and 
instruments  and  left  the  room.  Until  the  door  closed 
behind  him  the  young  lawyer  watched  him  as  if  fas- 
cinated. Then  Dare  claimed  his  attention. 

The  personnel  of  the  dozen  or  more  men  who  had 
assembled  was  in  keeping  with  the  studied  oddity  of 
their  environment.  At  one  table  were  three  men,  two 
in  evening  dress  and  the  third  in  the  rough  garb  of  a 
workman.  The  restaurant  was  famous  for  certain 
specialties,  and  a  dish  had  been  ordered  of  which  the 
workman  partook  with  relish,  the  others  sipping  ale 
and  making  a  polite  pretence  of  eating.  The  man  with 
the  appetite  was  Peter  Magoon,  known  in  the  club  as 
"  Braidwood  Pete."  His  companions  were  Saxon  and 
Pierre  Daubeny,  a  prosperous  shopkeeper  on  an  ad- 
jacent avenue. 


THE    WELL  gs 

Daubeny  was  a  French-Canadian,  and  was  so  great 
an  admirer  and  quoter  of  Rabelais  that  Saxon  had 
dubbed  him  with  the  name  of  that  philosopher.  He  was 
short  of  stature,  rotund,  smooth  and  florid  of  face,  and 
more  patient  as  a  talker  than  as  a  listener. 

There  were  present  several  workmen  belonging  to 
crafts  demanding' skill  with  corresponding  wages,  the 
"  business  agent "  of  a  powerful  trade-union,  an  actor 
well  known  to  foot-light  fame,  and  others  whom  Dare 
laughingly  presented  as  "  capitalistic  loafers."  Only 
in  a  metropolis  is  it  possible  to  draw  to  a  centre  so  in- 
congruous an  assemblage. 

Far  above  their  heads  the  skylights  became  yet  more 
indistinct  in  the  tobacco  smoke  which  banked  against 
it  in  a  cloud.  The  sounds  of  the  louder  laughter  came 
back  from  the  gloomy  walls  in  mocking  echoes. 

There  were  cheers  when  it  was  announced  that  one 
of  the  "  capitalists  "  had  consented  "to  lower  "  the  old 
oaken  bucket,  the  iron-bound  bucket  which  hangs  in  the 
well."  It  was  then  Deane  discovered  that  the  huge  cask 
was  not  wholly  ornamental  or  symbolic,  but  that  it  had 
a  festive  utility. 

The  waiter  took  the  leading  part  in  the  ceremony  of 
lowering  the  bucket.  He  rolled  a  keg  of  beer  into  the 
room,  loosened  the  rope  which  held  the  bucket  well  above 
the  table,  opened  a  small  and  ingeniously  constructed 
door  which  formed  a  part  of  its  circumference,  placed  the 
keg  therein,  tapped  it,  closed  the  door  so  that  only  the 
spigot  projected,  and  finally  placed  filled  steins  within 


86  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

convenient  reach.  All  this  was  done  so  quickly  as  to 
warrant  the  conclusion  that  this  was  no  uncommon  duty. 

A  belated  arrival  brought  the  news  that  Fischer  had 
been  severely  beaten  and  then  arrested.  This  threw 
Dare  into  a  fresh  fever  of  rage  and  excitement,  and  he 
poured  forth  a  flood  of  invective  against  Buckingham 
and  the  police. 

"  If  we  were  men ;  men  worthy  of  our  fighting  an- 
cestors," he  exclaimed  in  conclusion,  "  we  would  not  sit 
idly  here  and  tolerate  this  outrage !  Ten  men  of  cour- 
age and  determination  could  arouse  a  mob  and  lead  it 
to  the  rescue  of  Fischer — brave,  generous  and  manly 
Fischer ! " 

"  Zat  is  all  ver'  fine,  friend  Dare,  but  it  is  better  zat 
we  sit  right  here  an'  drink  zis  spleen-deed  beer,"  ad- 
vised Pierre  Daubeny,  leaning  contentedly  back  in  his 
chair  and  smiling  pleasantly.  "  Oui,  oui !  What  you 
say,  friend  Dare,  sounds  grand,  magnifique — great,  as 
you  say  in  zis  coun-tree,  but  it  is  wind,  air-ree,  tarn 
nonsense ;  eh,  what  ?  " 

"  You're  an  ass,  Eabelais !  "  angrily  retorted  Dare. 

"  Be  calm,  be  sedate,  friend  Dare,"  smiled  the  un- 
ruffled Daubeny,  lighting  a  fresh  cigar  and  languidly 
adjusting  his  cuffs.  "  What  did  the  wise  Panurge  say  ? 
He  say,  '  Vas  Ulysses  so  mad  as  to  go  back  into  ze 
Cyclop's  cave  to  recover  his  sword  ? '  Did  Ulysses  do 
dat ;  tell  me  \  Not  on  your  life !  You  bet  Ulysses  vant 
no  such  tarn  fool !  He  knew  zat  zare  were  plenty  swords, 
but  only  one  Ulysses,  and  he  vanted  to  go  home  to  his 


THE   WELL  87 

vife.  Keep  cool,  friend  Dare;  our  good  Fischer  vill 
get  out  in  time.  Now  he  is  in  ze  hands  of  ze  enemy — 
prison-aire  of  var;  what  you  say — but  he  is  in  no 
danger.  Our  guest  here,  ze  famous  lawyer,  Mr.  Deane, 
can  do  more  to-morrow  with  words  zan  you  an'  all  ze 
mobs  can  in  one  t'ousand  year." 

"  The  trouble  with  Dare's  revolutionists,"  sneered 
Saxon,  "  is  that  they  are  restrained  from  overthrowing 
society  by  the  fear  of  arrest.  If  arrested  they  could  not 
work,  and  that  is  the  greatest  calamity  which  can  befall 
them.  I  should  be  delighted  to  go  out  and  help  arouse 
these  patriots,  but  the  trouble  is  that  those  who  are  not 
in  jails  or  hospitals  are  asleep  in  their  hall  bedrooms, 
and  it  would  be  a  shame  to  wake  them." 

"  Rabelais  is  too  much  of  a  coward  to  fight,"  snapped 
Dare.  "  As  for  you,  Saxon,  if  your  sword  were  as  sharp 

and  ready  as  your  tongue  no  foe  could  stand  before  you. 
If » 

"  I  am  not  a  coward,"  mildly  protested  Daubeny. 
"  With  Panurge  I  exclaim :  '  My  name  is  William 
Dreadnaught;  by  the  pavilion  of  Mars  I  fear  nothing 
but  danger ! '  And  like  ze  good  Pantagruel  I  console 
myself  with  ze  thought  zat '  not  to  fear  when  ze  case  is 
evidently  dreadful  is  a  sign  of  want  or  smallness  of 
judgment.'  Zis  case  is  too  dreadful  for  me." 

"  I  am  not  a  coward,  neither  am  I  a  fool,"  broke  in 
Saxon.  "  I'm  sorry  for  Fischer  and  would  bail  him  out 
if  they  would  let  me,  but  they  won't  and  that  settles  it, 
so  far  as  to-night  is  concerned.  The  workmen  for  whom 


88  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

he  got  clubbed  have  neither  the  sense  to  understand  him 
nor  the  guts  to  stand  by  him.  Why  should  I  fight  their 
battles?  They  would  sooner  pay  admission  to  see  me 
hanged  than  raise  a  hand  to  prevent  it." 

"  You  would  look  veil  on  a  scaffold,  Saxon,"  observed 
the  unfeeling  Daubeny. 

"I  will  never  be  a  martyr  to  those  cattle,"  angrily 
retorted  Saxon.  "  A  fine  lot  they  are  that  a  real  man 
should  die  for  them.  I  looked  at  them  to-night.  Their 
cheeks  were  shrunken,  their  jaws  retreating,  their  teeth 
decayed,  their  breaths  foul,  their  complexions  sallow, 
their  shoulders  bent,  their  chests  hollow  and  their  legs 
as  crooked  as  their  brains.  At  the  flash  or  the  signal  of 
authority  they  cower  and  run  like  dogs.  Bah!  they 
weary  me.  A  militia  company  recruited  from  spindle- 
shanked  and  flabby-armed  clerks  can  chase  a  streetf  ul  of 
them  across  Manhattan  Island !  " 

During  this  philippic  Deane  called  Dare  aside  and 
told  him  that  he  would  appear  in  court  for  Fischer  on 
the  morrow.  Dare  urged  him  to  remain  and  answer 
Themistocles  Saxon,  but  Deane  would  not  listen  to  it. 
He  seemed  distraught  and  nervous,  and  after  promising 
to  "  drop  into  The  Well "  at  some  other  time  left  the 
room. 


CHAPTER  VII 

A  FEW   HIDDEN   THREADS 

DEANE  stopped  in  the  public  room  and  looked  about 
for  the  proprietor,  but  saw  nothing  of  him.  He  hesi- 
tated a  moment  and  then  obeying  an  impulse  pushed 
through  the  folding  screens  to  the  sidewalk. 

The  moon  struggled  through  the  ragged  edge  of  a 
cloud.  The  spars  and  rigging  of  ships  silhouetted 
against  the  murky  glow  from  the  Brooklyn  shore,  and 
the  smoke  from  a  passing  tug  hung  low  and  motionless 
in  the  humid  air. 

To  his  right  Deane  saw  the  figure  of  the  man  for 
whom  he  was  looking,  took  a  step  toward  him,  then 
checked  himself  and  stood  undecided.  At  that  instant 
a  woman  sprang  out  of  the  darkness  beyond  the  glare 
of  the  jets  from  the  windows.  Her  head  was  bare  and 
her  face  deathly  pale.  Deane  assumed  that  she  was  one 
of  the  unfortunates  who  at  night  roam  the  streets  of  that 
section  of  the  city.  He  was  surprised  when  she  came 
directly  toward  Parker,  gave  a  faint  cry,  pressed  her 
hand  to  her  heart  as  if  exhausted  from  running,  and 
would  have  fallen  had  that  tall  man  not  reached  out  and 
sustained  her. 


90  THE   BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

The  light  from  the  saloon  windows  fell  full  on  her 
face,  and  Deane  was  impressed  with  its  sad  and  wistful 
beauty.  Tears  brimmed  in  her  affrighted  eyes,  the 
tender  lips  quivered  and  she  looked  appealingly  at 
Parker  as  if  dreading  an  ordeal  from  which  there  was 
no  escape.  Her  dress  was  of  dark  material  and  severely 
simple  with  crepe  at  the  throat.  Deane  felt  ashamed  of 
his  first  impression  of  her,  ashamed  before  she  had  said 
a  word. 

"  Is  it  true  about — about  him  ?  "  she  cried.  "  Oh, 
tell  me,  Mr.  Parker,  tell  me  that  it  is  not  true !  " 

"  Don't  take  on  so,  Miss  Fischer,"  he  said  soothingly 
as  his  gruff  voice  would  permit.  "  He'll  be  out  all  right 
to-morrow,  so  don't  worry  a  bit  about  it." 

"  Out  to-morrow  ?  Out  to-morrow  ?  "  she  exclaimed, 
clasping  his  arm  and  looking  eagerly  into  his  face. 
"  They  told  me  he  was  dead !  Are  you  sure  he  is  alive ; 
are  you  sure,  Mr.  Parker  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  am,"  he  declared,  with  a  laugh  meant 
to  be  reassuring.  "  I  came  from  the  jail  just  now.  I 
saw  him,  talked  with  him  and  left  him  some  cigars  and 
a  bite  to  eat.  You  father  isn't  hurt  to  amount  to  any- 
thing; not  half  so  much  as  Mr.  Dare." 

"  I  can  go  home  to  mother  now,"  she  said,  her  voice 
musical  with  its  thrill  of  happiness.  "  The  death  of 
little  Jimmy  almost  killed  her,  and  when  I  heard  about 
the  riot  I  was  awfully  scared.  One  of  the  men  told  me 
that  papa  had  been  arrested.  I  went  to  the  station  and 
asked  a  policeman  where  he  was,  and  he  said  they  had 


A  FEW  HIDDEN   THREADS  91 

'  beaten  his  block  off  and  taken  him  to  the  morgue.'  I 
know  how  the  police  hate  him,  and  I  was  so  afraid  it 
was  true.  But  it  isn't ;  is  it,  Mr.  Parker  ?  "  she  asked, 
like  a  child  who  never  tires  of  listening  to  a  tale  which 
pleases. 

"  He's  all  right,  you  can  depend  on  that,"  repeated 
that  person.  "  But  see  here,  little  one,  are  you  not 
afraid  to  go  home  alone  ?  It's  late,  you  know,  and " 

"  You  must  not  go  with  me,"  she  interrupted,  look- 
ing doubtfully  at  him  and  drawing  away.  Then  as  if 
regretting  this  implied  suspicion  she  smiled  and  frankly 
held  out  her  hand.  "  I  am  not  afraid,"  she  declared. 
"  You  are  very  kind,  sir,  and  I  thank  you  ever  so 
much." 

"  Don't  mention  it,"  stammered  that  awkward  per- 
son, removing  his  hat.  "  Always  glad  to  do  anything  I 
can.  Tell  your  mother  not  to  worry.  Good-night,  Miss 
Fischer!" 

"  Good-night !  "  she  replied,  and  a  moment  later  the 
darkness  enveloped  her.  He  gazed  in  the  direction  she 
had  taken,  whistled  softly  and  then  turned  and  saw 
Deane. 

"  Going  so  soon  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  should  like  to  have  a  talk  with  you  before  I  go," 
said  Deane. 

"  Certainly,"  responded  the  owner  of  The  Well. 
"  Come  in  and  sit  down  at  one  of  the  tables ;  no  one 
will  bother  us." 

"  I  should  prefer  some  more  private  place.    If " 


92  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

"  Come  up  to  my  rooms,"  invited  Parker,  with  a 
curious  glance.  "  There  is  not  a  soul  on  the  whole 
floor,  and  we  can  talk  all  we  please." 

Deane  followed  the  tall  man  up  the  stairs  and  en- 
tered a  large  and  tidily  arranged  room.  In  one  corner 
was  a  case  filled  with  books,  and  scattered  about  the 
room  were  mementoes  dear  to  the  heart  of  a  sailor. 

"  Spin  away,"  said  his  host,  tucking  a  piece  of  to- 
bacco under  his  tongue  and  leaning  back  in  his  chair. 
Deane  hesitated  and  cleared  his  throat  several  times, 
but  the  other  waited  patiently. 

"  Have  you  any  recollection  of  meeting  me  before  ?  " 
he  asked,  leaning  forward  and  awaiting  the  reply.  His 
companion  gazed  intently  at  him  for  several  seconds. 

"  No,"  he  said,  shaking  his  head.  "  Of  course  I've 
heard  of  you  and  have  seen  your  picture  in  the  papers, 
but  I  don't  recall  that  I've  seen  you  before,  and  my 
memory  of  faces  is  good." 

"  Your  name  is  William  Parker,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Have  you  ever  gone  by  any  other  name  ?  " 

"  Look  here,  Mr.  Deane !  "  exclaimed  that  person. 
"  I  deny  your  right  to  ask  me  that  question !  What  is 
it  to  you  ?  What  business  is  it  of  yours  ?  " 

"  Did  you  not  go  for  years  by  the  name  of  '  Long 
Bill '  ? " 

The  effect  of  this  question  was  electrical.  The  tall 
man  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  in  his  eyes  was  a  look  of 


A  FEW  HIDDEN   THREADS  93 

mingled  fear  and  defiance  as  he  gazed  scowlingly  at  the 
young  lawyer. 

"  Suppose  I  said  I  had  been  known  as  '  Long  Bill/ 
what  would  you  do  about  it  I "  he  demanded.  "  You 
needn't  think  you  can  bluff  or  scare  me !  I  have  broken 
none  of  the  laws  of  this  country.  Damn  it,  man,  what 
are  you  driving  at  ?  " 

"  There  was  a  time  when  you  were  not  so  gruff  as 
you  are  to-night,  Long  Bill,"  said  Deane  quietly.  "  Let 
me  say  to  you  that  I  come  to  you  as  a  friend;  an  old 
friend,  and  I  wish  you  nothing  but  good.  You  have 
seen  me  many  times,  and  I  have  a  special  reason  for 
wishing  to  know  if  you  can  identify  me.  Take  your 
time  and  try  as  hard  as  you  can.  I  knew  you  the  min- 
ute I  saw  you.  Look  at  me,  Long  Bill !  Who  am  I  ? " 

The  former  first  mate  of  the  Frolic  placed  his 
hands  on  Deane's  shoulders  and  looked  long  and  search- 
ingly  into  his  eyes.  Then  he  stood  off  and  measured 
him  from  head  to  foot. 

"  You've  got  me,"  he  said  finally.  "  For  a  minute  I 
thought  you  were  a  young  fellow  I  ran  across  in  Havana, 
but  he  had  blue  eyes  and  a  smaller  chin.  If  I  ever  saw 
you  before  I  have  forgotten  where." 

"  Are  you  sure,  Long  Bill,  are  you  sure  ?  "  he  eagerly 
insisted.  "  Does  not  my  voice  suggest  some  one  to 
you?" 

"  Nobody,"  replied  the  other,  after  a  pause.  "  Stow 
all  this  mystery  and  spin  your  yarn.  Who  are  you; 


94  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

that's  the  question?  Dare  said  you  were  Mr.  Deane; 
that's  all  I  know  about  it." 

"  Did  you  ever  sail  on  a  schooner  with  Jake  Stark — 
Captain  Jake  Stark  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  did,  and  then  again  perhaps  I  didn't," 
was  the  evasive  response,  his  keen  blue  eyes  narrowly 
watching  his  questioner. 

"  Well,  you  did,  and  when  I  remind  you  of  it  you 
will  recall  that  he  had  a  son  who  went  by  the  name  of 
'  Mascot.'  He  was  about  twelve  years  old  when  you 
last  saw  him.  Look  at  me,  Long  Bill !  I  was  Mascot !  " 

"  What  are  you  saying,  man,  what  are  you  saying  ?  " 
exclaimed  the  sailor.  "  You,  Mascot  ?  You,  Jake 
Stark's  boy  ?  Are  you  sure,  man,  are  you  sure  ?  I  be- 
lieve you're  right !  Damn  it,  my  boy,  I  believe  you're 
right!  Mascot,  little  Mascot  of  the  Frolic!  Well, 
well,  well !  I'm  mighty  glad  to  see  you,  my  lad,  mighty 
glad!"  and  the  two  men  clasped  hands  and  gazed  at 
each  other  with  eyes  that  brimmed  with  tears. 

"  I  have  many  things  to  ask  you,  Long  Bill,"  he  said, 
breaking  the  long  silence,  "  but  first  tell  me  how  my 
father  was  killed  and  where  he  was  buried  ?  " 

"  Killed  and  buried  ?  "  exclaimed  the  sailor.  "  Who 
told  you  that  ?  " 

Deane  told  what  he  had  heard  from  the  former  mem- 
ber of  the  crew  of  the  Frolic. 

"  Captain  Jake  was  supposed  to  be  killed,  but  he 
wasn't  by  a  long  shot,"  declared  Long  Bill.  "  He  was 
wounded  by  a  revenue  officer  about  that  time,  but  he 


A  FEW  HIDDEN   THREADS  95 

pulled  through  all  right.     He's  alive  and  well,  or  at 
least  he  was  a  month  or  so  ago." 

"  Where  is  he  ?  "  cried  Deane,  his  voice  trembling  and 
his  face  pale  from  excitement. 

"  Let  me  start  from  the  beginning,"  suggested  Long 
Bill.  "  It  won't  take  long  to  spin  the  yarn  of  what 
happened  to  him  and  me  since  the  marines  from  the 
Alexander  took  us  off  the  Frolic." 

"  Tell  me  first  if  he  is  in  the  city  ? " 

"  He  is  not  here  now,  but  I'm  expecting  him  any 
day,"  said  the  sailor.  "  I  had  a  letter  from  him  only 
a  few  days  ago,  and  he  planned  to  take  the  next  boat  in 
case  he  could  arrange  matters  in — but  you  had  better 
let  me  tell  this  story  from  the  start  or  you'll  get  all 
mixed  up." 

"  Go  ahead,"  said  the  young  lawyer  eagerly.  "  The 
last  I  heard  of  you  and  my  father  you  had  escaped  from 
the  jail  in  Kingston.  I  learned  that  on  the  Alexander, 
and  then  I  went  away  on  her,  but  I'll  tell  you  of  that 
later." 

"  It  don't  seem  so  long  ago  to  me  as  it  probably  does 
to  you,"  mused  Long  Bill.  "  Let's  see,  that  was  four- 
teen years  ago  about  this  time  of  the  year.  You  were 
twelve  years  old  then,  which  makes  you  twenty-six  now, 
and  I'm  nearly  forty.  I  reckon  I  look  now  about  as  I 
did  then,  but  Jake  Stark  would  never  recognize  you, 
Mascot — Mr.  Deane,  I  mean." 

"  Call  me  Mascot  to-night,"  smiled  the  young  man. 
"  It  sounds  natural." 


96  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

"  When  we  got  out  of  that  jail — and  it  wasn't  much 
of  a  trick — we  headed  into  the  interior  of  Jamaica.  I 
suppose  they  tried  to  follow  us,  but  we  didn't  worry 
much  about  that.  Do  you  remember  that  hut  in  the 
woods  back  from  the  lake  where  the  Frolic  was  cap- 
tured ?  We  took  you  there  once." 

"  I  remember  it,"  replied  Deane. 

"  We  went  there  when  we  thought  it  safe,  and  there 
we  found  Eat  Trap.  He  was  the  only  one  who  escaped 
when  the  blue  jackets  boarded  us.  Do  you  remember 
that?" 

"  I  remember  more  than  I  wish  I  did,"  was  his  an- 
swer. "  Go  on." 

"  There  was  where  Jake  Stark  kept  his  extra  money, 
and  I  had  a  little  cached  there  too.  We  tried  to  raise 
the  Frolic,  but  they  had  run  her  on  a  reef  and  stove 
a  hole  in  her  bottom,  and  it  was  no  use.  Then  we 
headed  up  the  coast,  and  one  night  we  found  a  small 
sloop  which  we  bought  and  pointed  for  Cuba.  The 
second  night  we  made  Santiago,  and  there  we  sold  the 
sloop  and  hung  around  the  wharves  for  several  days. 
Jake  wanted  to  disguise  himself  and  go  back  to  Kings- 
ton and  look  for  you.  He  wouldn't  talk  about  anything 
else  for  days,  but  we  finally  persuaded  him  to  send  Hat 
Trap.  No  one  in  Kingston  had  ever  seen  Eat  Trap, 
and  as  he  was  willing  to  go  we  sent  him.  It  was  two 
weeks  before  he  got  back  with  the  news  that  you  had 
been  taken  away  on  the  Alexander,  and  no  one  knew 
whether  she  would  ever  come  back  or  not.  We  talked 


A  FEW  HIDDEN   THREADS  97 

it  over  a  hundred  times  and  decided  that  you  had  been 
taken  to  England.  Jake  was  for  going  over  there  and 
looking  for  you,  but  we  persuaded  him  that  there  was 
no  chance  of  finding  you,  and  every  chance  that  he 
would  be  nabbed.  Jake  thought  an  awful  lot  of  you, 
Mascot" 

He  paused  and  looked  closely  at  the  former  sea  waif. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it,"  he  said  slowly,  after  a  pause. 

"  He  thought  everything  in  the  world  of  you,  my  lad. 

don't  hold  him  up  as  a  man  to  take  pattern  after,  but 
he  intended  to  do  well  by  you.  He  did  some  things  that 
mebbe  were  not  just  right,  but  Jake  loved  you  and  was 
anxious  that  you  should  become  a  gentleman." 

"  The  world  thinks  I  am  one,"  retorted  Deane,  with 
a  bitter  smile. 

"  He  spent  all  the  money  he  had  in  the  world  trying 
to  find  you,  and  many  a  time  I  have  seen  him  take  on 
terribly  when  he  was  thinking  about  you.  But  finally 
he  gave  you  up,  and  we  got  hold  of  another  schooner  and 
I  took  a  quarter  interest  in  her.  We  decided  to  steer 
clear  of  the  smuggling  business.  Not  that  either  one  of 
us  thought  that  it  was  a  crime,"  he  declared,  looking 
doubtfully  at  Deane.  "  I  never  thought  so  then,  and  I 
don't  think  so  now.  If  it  wasn't  for  foolish  laws  men 
wouldn't  be  tempted  to  go  in  for  smuggling." 

"  I  believe  in  free  trade  myself,"  smiled  Deane,  "  but 
go  on." 

"Well,  I  sold  my  interest  in  the  schooner  to  him," 
continued  Long  Bill,  after  lighting  his  pipe,  "  and 
7 


98  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

shipped  as  second  mate  on  a  tramp  steamer.  He  thought 
there  was  big  money  in  Brazil,  and  said  he  was  going 
there,  and  then  I  lost  track  of  him  for  years.  Finally  I 
met  Eat  Trap  in  Savannah,  and  he  told  me  that  Jake 
had  quit  the  sea,  had  gone  in  for  sheep  raising  down  in 
the  Argentine,  that  he  was  a  respectable  citizen  and  was 
doing  well." 

"  You  don't  know  how  glad  I  am  to  hear  that,"  said 
Deane,  his  face  brightening. 

Long  Bill  went  to  a  desk  and  after  a  brief  search 
returned  with  a  letter. 

"  I  received  this  about  ten  days  ago,"  he  said.  "  It's 
from  Captain  Jake,  as  you  will  see,  and  it  tells  you  all 
I  know  about  him  at  present.  Rat  Trap  gave  me  his 
address.  I  wrote  to  him  and  this  is  his  answer,  and 
I'm  mighty  glad  to  know  that  he  is  on  top  where  he 
belongs." 

The  letter  was  dated  from  Rosario,  Argentine  Re- 
public, and  was  written  in  a  scrawling  but  legible  hand, 
and  contained  fewer  grammatical  errors  than  Deane 
had  reason  to  anticipate.  It  opened  with  a  rambling 
account  of  his  business  affairs  and  concluded  with  the 
statement  that  he  had  sold  his  sheep  ranch  "  for  a  fairly 
good  sum,"  and  that  he  intended  to  sail  for  New  York 
as  soon  as  "he  had  closed  up  some  deals  in  Buenos 
Ayres."  Deane  read  the  letter  twice,  and  then  handed 
it  back. 

"  Where  did  you  first  meet  my  father,  Bill  ? "  he 
asked.  "  And  when  did  you  first  see  me  ?  " 


A  FEW  HIDDEN  THREADS  99 

"  You  were  a  kid  not  more  than  three  years  old  when 
I  first  ran  across  Jake  Stark,"  replied  the  sailor  after 
closing  his  eyes  in  thought.  "  That  was  at  La  Guaira. 
I  don't  suppose  you  remember  as  far  back  as  that  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  recall  a  time  when  I  did  not  know  you," 
he  said.  "  Go  on,  Bill.  What  did  my  father  ever  tell 
you  about  me  or  about  my  mother  \  Who  was  she,  and 
where  was  I  born  ?  If  you  knew,  Bill,  how  many  times 
I  have  asked  myself  these  questions  you  would  pity 
me." 

His  voice  faltered  and  there  was  a  look  of  entreaty  in 
his  eyes.  Long  Bill  made  a  pretence  of  cleaning  the 
bowl  of  his  pipe,  started  to  speak  and  then  moved  awk- 
wardly in  his  chair. 

"  Say  something,  man !  "  exclaimed  Stanley  Deane. 
"  Tell  me  that  my  mother  was  a  good  woman.  She 
must  have  been  a  pure  woman.  You  knew  her,  Bill; 
tell  me  that  she  was  all  that  a  mother  should  be !  " 

The  young  man  paced  nervously  back  and  forth  with 
his  eyes  fixed  on  the  shambling  figure  of  the  once  first 
mate  of  the  smuggler  yacht. 

"  I  never  saw  your  mother,  Mascot,"  he  slowly  said. 
"  I  never  saw  her  and  to  tell  you  the  exact  truth  I  do 
not  know  a  thing  about  her,  but  I  make  no  doubt  that 
she  was  a  good  woman.  Jake  Stark  was  no  hand  to  run 
after  strange  women.  I  know  that  as  well  as  a  man  can 
know  anything,  and  while  I  cannot  swear  to  it  I  have 
no  doubt  that  you  was  born  in  wedlock  somewhere  in 
New  England.  All  that  Jake  ever  said  to  me  or  any- 


100  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

body  else — and  he  told  me  more  than  he  did  anybody — 
was  that  your  mother  died  when  you  were  a  baby.  He 
had  owned  the  Frolic  only  six  months  when  I  came 
aboard  her,  and  none  of  the  crew  had  sailed  with  him 
before,  and  I  reckon  that  they  knew  nothing  about  you 
or  him.  Jake  was  not  the  man  to  blab  about  his  affairs. 
Didn't  he  ever  tell  you  anything  about  your  mother, 
Mascot?" 

Deane  shook  his  head. 

"  I  remember  asking  him  about  my  mother  several 
times,"  he  said,  "  but  he  would  laugh  and  say  that  he 
was  my  father  and  mother." 

"  He  used  to  make  your  dresses  when  you  were  a  little 
toddler,"  mused  Long  Bill.  "  I  can  see  him  now  as 
plain  as  if  it  were  yesterday,  sitting  under  an  awning 
•on  the  deck  of  the  Frolic  stitching  away  on  little  skirts 
of  most  wonderful  colors,  and  when  you  were  older  he 
made  your  pants  and  jackets,  and  now  that  I  think  of 
it  he  made  them  right  well.  Jake  was  a  wonderful 
man,  Mascot ;  in  some  respects  the  most  wonderful  man 
I  ever  knew." 

"  My  life  on  the  Frolic  was  in  a  womanless  world," 
Deane  remarked,  with  a  faint  smile  as  he  listened  to 
this  description  of  Jake  Stark,  "  and  the  fact  that  I  had 
no  mother  made  no  impression  on  me.  The  Frolic  was 
my  universe,  and  since  there  were  no  mothers  on  it 

I  accepted  things  as  they  were.  But  now "  and  for 

some  minutes  he  walked  the  floor  in  silence,  Long  Bill 


A  FEW  HIDDEN   THREADS  IQI 

smoking  stolidly,  too  tactful  to  offer  sympathy  in  a  situ- 
ation which  was  clearly  beyond  his  grasp. 

"  Do  you  think  that  my  father  will  recognize  me  ? " 
he  suddenly  asked. 

"  Never  in  the  world !  "  declared  Long  Bill. 

"  Let  me  make  myself  known  to  him,  Long  Bill.  I 
would  rather  do  that,  and  I  have  a  reason  for  wishing 
to  do  so." 

"  I  won't  say  a  word  until  you  tell  me  I  can,"  prom- 
ised the  sailor.  For  some  minutes  the  former  sea  waif 
paced  slowly  up  and  down  the  room  with  bowed  head, 
Long  Bill  studying  him  intently. 

"  Did  it  ever  occur  to  you  that  perhaps  Jake  Stark 
is  not  your  father  ?  "  he  abruptly  asked. 

"  Why  do  you  ask  that  ?  "  exclaimed  Deane.  "  Did 
he  ever  say  anything  to  lead  you  to  believe  that  he  was 
not?" 

"  Not  a  word.  We  always  took  it  for  granted  that 
you  was,  and  of  course  there's  no  reason  for  thinking 
otherwise,  but " 

"But  what?" 

"  You  don't  look  or  act  like  Jake  Stark's  son,"  hesi- 
tated the  sailor. 

"  That  is  natural  enough,"  Deane  replied.  "  I  may 
favor  my  mother.  Again,  for  the  past  fourteen  years  I 
have  been  trained  to  act  as  the  son  of  a  cultured  gentle- 
man. If  I'm  not  the  son  of  Jake  Stark,  why  was  I  with 
him,  and  who  am  I  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  Long  Bill  admitted  reluctantly.    "  I 


102  THE   BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

only  know  that  when  you  were  a  little  lad  you  said 
and  did  things  which  made  me  wonder  how  Jake  hap- 
pened to  be  father  to  such  a  boy.  That  don't  prove  any- 
thing, of  course,  but  you're  not  his  style.  Now  tell  me 
about  yourself,  my  boy.  Where  have  you  been  all  these 
years  ? " 

And  then  Deane  told  his  wonderful  story  to  the  sailor. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  GIFT  OF  A  ROSE 

IT  was  daylight  when  this  singular  interview  was 
ended.  Long  Bill  urged  Deane  to  lie  down  and  rest  for 
a  few  hours,  but  he  declined,  knowing  full  well  that 
sleep  would  not  come  to  him. 

It  was  difficult  to  realize  that  the  stirring  events  of 
the  night  were  not  fragments  of  dreams.  The  fierce 
scenes  of  the  riot,  the  grim  walls  and  grimmer  char- 
acters met  in  The  Well,  the  recognition  of  Long  Bill 
and  the  proof  that  his  father  yet  lived — all  had  been 
crowded  into  a  few  hours. 

The  morning  air  revived  him,  and  as  his  brain  be- 
came clear  one  thought  stood  out  vivid  before  all  others. 
His  father  lived — the  past  was  linked  with  the  present ! 

His  boyhood  days  rose  before  him.  Again  he  played 
on  the  deck  of  the  Frolic,  again  he  saw  the  little  room 
filled  with  childish  toys,  again  he  lived  that  night  of 
capture,  again  he  looked  into  the  stern  faces  of  the 
marines  and  saw  the  spitting  fire  from  the  muzzles  of 
their  guns,  and  once  again  he  saw  his  father  manacled 
with  a  felon's  chains.  To  his  memory  came  the  kindly 
words  and  cheerful  smile  of  Jake  Stark  as  he  was  led 


I04  THE   BOTTOM   OF    THE   WELL 

below  the  decks  of  the  Alexander.  He  recalled  little 
acts  of  tenderness,  incidents  almost  forgotten  which 
thrilled  him  strangely. 

And  then  he  thought  of  his  mother;  not  as  he  had 
thought  of  her  thousands  of  times  before;  not  as  a 
shadow  ever  eluding  his  groping  fancy,  but  as  one  who 
was  drawing  near  to  him  either  in  flesh  or  in  spirit.  As 
yet  she  gave  him  no  token  of  good  or  evil  tidings,  but 
as  he  walked  the  street  that  early  morn  his  faith  rose 
with  the  brightening  of  the  dawn. 

Not  until  he  saw  the  green  of  Battery  Park  did  he 
realize  how  deep  had  been  his  abstraction.  He  bought 
a  morning  paper  and  read  as  he  strolled  slowly  back  to 
the  upper  section  of  the  city.  The  news  did  not  interest 
him,  but  his  mind  ceased  to  dwell  on  the  strange  events 
through  which  he  had  passed.  He  smiled  when  he 
became  conscious  that  he  was  thinking  of  Alice  Buck- 
ingham. 

Would  the  coming  of  Jake  Stark  make  it  possible  for 
him  to  aspire  to  her  love,  or  would  he  bring  a  message 
which  should  remove  her  forever  beyond  his  wildest 
hopes  ?  He  soon  would  know. 

Then  he  became  aware  that  he  was  nearing  her  home, 
and  he  thought  of  what  Tom  Harkness  had  told  him 
only  the  day  before  of  its  fair  young  mistress. 

She  was  not  happy  there.  Her  mother  had  died  when 
she  was  a  child,  leaving  no  male  heir  to  the  Buckingham 
fortune.  One  would  have  thought  that  the  stricken 
father  would  have  warmed  toward  his  daughter,  the 


THE   GIFT  OF  A  ROSE  105 

only  one  on  earth  bound  to  him  by  ties  of  flesh  and 
blood,  but  this  cold,  silent  and  self-centred  man  did  not. 
He  was  not  unkind,  but  his  care  for  her  was  that  of  a 
guardian  rather  than  a  father.  When  she  came  to  years 
of  understanding  she  knew  that  in  his  eyes  her  sex  was 
an  unforgivable  fault 

He  had  placed  her  in  charge  of  a  governess,  and  her 
childhood  was  spent  under  the  eyes  of  tutors.  There 
were  intervals  when  she  was  with  him  in  his  country 
places  near  Paris  and  Berlin,  but  he  paid  her  little  at- 
tention. When  she  grew  older  she  scorned  to  counter- 
feit a  love  his  coldness  and  neglect  had  stifled. 

When  Alice  became  mistress  of  the  Buckingham 
mansion  she  came  to  know  that  there  was  connected 
with  it  a  Blue  Beard's  apartment  into  which  she  was 
forbidden  to  enter. 

It  was  a  small,  brick  hut  of  peculiar  construction 
which  her  father  had  erected  as  an  ell  to  the  garage  and 
stables.  It  had  no  windows,  save  those  of  a  skylight, 
and  its  only  door  opened  into  the  garage. 

Alice  learned  from  the  servants,  and  later  from  ob- 
servation, that  her  father  spent  most  of  his  time  in  this 
den.  No  one,  not  even  the  silent  and  discreet  private 
secretary,  Mr.  Peters,  was  admitted  to  it,  and  the  em- 
ploye who  made  the  mistake  of  lingering  near  its  walls 
or  who  displayed  the  slightest  open  interest  in  its  secrets 
was  sure  of  dismissal.  The  servants  called  it  the 
"  laboratory,"  when  they  referred  to  it  in  whispers.  No- 
sounds  penetrated  its  brick  walls,  and  its  only  indica- 


106  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

tion  of  internal  activity  was  an  occasional  trace  of  smoke 
from  an  iron  chimney  which  reached  well  above  the  roof 
of  the  mansion. 

It  was  the  general  belief  that  Buckingham  was  en- 
eased  in  electrical  or  chemical  experiments  in  which 

o    o  •*- 

secrecy  was  imperative.  Few  of  the  score  or  more  of 
servants  had  ever  passed  a  word  with  their  employer. 
He  seldom  frequented  the  beautiful  paths  and  gardens, 
and  when  he  walked  between  the  house  and  the  labora- 
tory his  eyes  were  shaded  by  a  guard  such  as  jewellers 
use  in  their  delicate  tasks. 

Deane  was  little  interested  in  the  gossip  about  the 
laboratory.  It  was  nothing  to  him  that  the  eccentric 
millionaire  pursued  some  secret  task  within  its  walls, 
but  it  was  beyond  his  comprehension  how  anyone,  much 
less  a  father,  could  help  loving  Alice  Buckingham. 
This  shadow  over  her  life  drew  him  closer  to  her  in 
sympathy.  They  had  something  in  common,  but  like 
all  who  suffer  he  was  sure  that  her  sorrows  were  nothing 
compared  with  his. 

When  he  neared  the  main  entrance  he  noted  that  the 
gates  were  opened,  and  through  them  he  caught  a 
glimpse  of  flowering  plants  and  a  lawn  wet  with  dew. 
It  was  the  first  time  he  had  seen  these  gates  thrown  back, 
and  he  slackened  his  pace  and  gazed  curiously  in. 

As  he  came  squarely  in  front  he  saw  the  skirt  of  a 
woman's  gown,  and  at  the  sound  of  his  steps  Alice  Buck- 
ingham turned  and  looked  squarely  into  his  eyes. 

She  wore  a  gown,  light  gray,  severely  simple  but  mar- 


THE   GIFT  OF  A  ROSE  IO7 

vellously  effective.  Her  dark  hair  was  dressed  low  on 
her  neck,  and  her  arms  were  filled  with  roses.  Her  soft, 
brown  eyes  opened  wide  with  surprise  as  she  recognized 
Deane,  and  the  red  of  the  roses  flamed  for  an  instant  on 
her  cheeks. 

"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Deane !  "  she  exclaimed,  step- 
ping forward  and  greeting  him.  "  You  are  an  early 
riser." 

"  I  was  about  to  say  the  same  of  you,  Miss  Bucking- 
him,"  he  returned,  wondering  if  his  eyes  betrayed  his 
loss  of  sleep.  "  What  lovely  roses !  " 

"  Aren't  they  ?  "  she  replied,  with  an  admiring  look 
at  their  colors.  "  A  little  girl  who  said  that  she  worked 
in  a  department  store  stopped  and  looked  in,  as  you  are 
doing  now,  and  when  I  gave  her  a  rose  she  thanked  me 
and  went  away  very  happy." 

"  Give  me  one  and  I'll  be  happy,  but  I'll  not  promise 
to  go  away." 

"  The  little  girl  did  not  ask  for  it,"  she  retorted. 
"  However,  you  shall  have  one.  Make  your  own  choice, 
sir." 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  selecting  a  half -opened  bud 
of  perfect  shape  and  color. 

They  were  standing  within  the  gates,  and  when  Deane 
had  fastened  the  rose  in  the  lapel  of  his  coat  his  eyes 
wandered  to  the  flower  gardens  which  radiated  from  a 
fountain  to  the  right. 

"  What  a  beautiful  place !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  For  a  New  York  residence,  yes,"  Alice  admitted. 


IC8  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

"  The  average  native  of  this  city  sees  beauty  only  in 
stone,  brick  and  mortar.  This  was  my  grandfather's 
idea,  and  the  effect  would  be  pretty  were  it  not  for  those 
ugly  factories  and  tenement  houses  in  the  background. 
I  try  to  think  that  they  are  palaces,  but  my  fancy  halts. 
Will  you  walk  through  my  little  park  ?  " 

"  I've  been  waiting  for  just  that  invitation,"  declared 
Deane. 

"  Try  and  imagine  yourself  back  in  Cragmere.  I 
never  saw  a  more  lovely  old  place,  and  I  don't  see  how 
you  can  stay  so  long  away  from  it." 

"  It  never  was  as  attractive  as  this  garden  is  now," 
Deane  said,  his  face  sober  but  a  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"  I'm  impervious  to  your  compliments,"  she  said, 
with  a  toss  of  her  pretty  head.  "  Mrs.  Stack-Haven  has 
warned  me  that  you  are  a  dreadful  flatterer." 

"  And  I  had  counted  Mrs.  Stack-Haven  my  friend," 
he  protested.  "  When  you  come  to  know  me  you  will 
learn  that  I'm  as  matter-of-fact  as  a  statistician  and  as 
truthful  as  a  calendar.  That's  an  odd  structure,"  he 
observed,  indicating  the  laboratory.  "  What  is  it  used 
for?" 

"  Papa  works  in  it,"  she  said,  a  cloud  passing  over 
her  face.  "  Please  don't  ask  me  about  it;  really  I  know 
nothing  of  it." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon !  "  he  said,  heartily  ashamed  of 
his  attempt  to  question  her  on  a  subject  which  he  knew 
must  be  distasteful  to  her. 

For  some  minutes  they  strolled  slowly  through  the 


THE   GIFT  OF  A  ROSE  lOg 

walks  of  this  oasis  in  the  city's  squalor,  and  as  he  lis- 
tened to  the  music  of  her  voice  and  watched  the  play  of 
emotions  in  her  eyes,  his  thoughts  were  far  away  from 
those  which  had  harassed  him  in  the  hours  before. 

"  It  is  kind  of  you  to  admit  an  enemy  within  your 
walls,"  he  said,  as  they  came  from  the  garden  and  stood 
once  more  by  the  huge  iron  gates. 

"  An  enemy  ?  "  she  asked,  her  questioning  eyes  look- 
ing into  his.  "  An  enemy  ?  How  so  ?  " 

"  Have  you  not  heard  that  your  father's  employes 
are  on  a  strike  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  have,"  she  declared,  "  and  I  have  also 
heard  that  you  are  their  champion.  I  am  a  non-com- 
batant." 

"  I  wish  we  could  enroll  you  on  our  side." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  that  the  men  are  right,"  she  said. 
"  All  that  I  know  about  the  labor  problem  is  that  those 
who  work  do  not  get  what  they  earn." 

"  There  is  little  more  to  learn,"  responded  Deane. 
"  Miss  Buckingham,  I  thank  you  for  a  most  delightful 
half  hour,  also  again  for  this  rose." 

"  You  are  welcome  to  both,"  she  smiled,  and  the 
young  lawyer  turned  reluctantly  away. 

A  brisk  walk  to  his  apartments  and  a  cold  plunge  put 
him  on  edge  for  a  hearty  breakfast.  In  his  morning's 
mail  he  found  a  letter  which  surprised  and  pleased  him. 
It  read : 

"  Mr.  Buckingham  will  esteem  it  a  favor  if  you  will  call  at  his 
residence  at  eight  o'clock  this  evening.  Please  notify  me  by  tele- 
phone if  this  will  suit  your  convenience.  Very  truly  yours, 

"  SAMUKL  PKTKRS.  Private  Secretary." 


10  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

Deane  construed  this  a  favorable  omen  for  the  strik- 
ers, and  sincerely  hoped  it  was  an  indication  that  the 
owner  of  the  Buckingham  mills  was  ready  to  negotiate 
for  a  settlement.  He  decided,  however,  to  say  nothing 
to  Fischer  and  other  of  the  union  leaders,  fearing  to 
arouse  false  hopes. 

He  telephoned  Mr.  Peters  that  he  would  call  on  Buck- 
ingham that  evening  and  then  went  to  his  office,  attended 
to  a  few  pressing  matters,  and  hurried  to  the  police 
court. 

The  rioting  prisoners  had  not  yet  been  brought  in, 
but  the  sidewalk  was  crowded  with  their  friends,  and  a 
dense  throng  packed  the  court  room.  The  young  lawyer 
was  recognized  as  he  forced  his  way  through  the  mass, 
and  a  cheer  went  up  for  their  distinguished  champion. 
As  he  entered  the  hall  a  hand  was  laid  lightly  on  his 
arm,  and  he  turned  to  look  into  a  face  of  remarkable 
beauty.  The  garb  of  the  toiling  class  did  not  lessen  the 
charm  of  her  face  nor  mask  the  grace  of  her  figure.  The 
eyes  were  blue,  soft  and  wistful,  the  mouth  tender,  the 
complexion  so  fair  that  the  slightest  blemish  would  have 
marred  it  as  does  a  flaw  a  diamond,  and  beneath  her 
modest  cap  were  folds  of  hair  with  the  subdued  gleam 
of  red  gold. 

'  You  are  Mr.  Deane,  are  you  not  ?  "  she  asked,  the 
words  trembling  on  her  lips. 

'  Yes,"  he  said,  looking  at  her  closely.  "  Miss 
Fischer,  I  believe  ?  " 

"  I  am  August  Fischer's  daughter,"  she  replied,  her 


THE   GIFT  OF  A  ROSE  1Xr 

eyes  opening  wide  with  surprise.  "  How  did  you  know 
me,  sir  ?  " 

"  I  saw  you  last  evening  when  you  were  talking  with 
— with  Mr.  Parker,"  he  hesitated,  Long  Bill's  name 
escaping  him  for  a  moment. 

"  Oh !  "  she  exclaimed,  looking  down  in  confusion. 

"  Do  not  worry  about  your  father,"  said  Deane  cheer- 
fully. "  He  will  be  a  free  man  in  a  few  hours." 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  "  she  cried,  hope  shining  in  her  eyes. 
"  Oh,  sir;  my  mother  is  dreadfully  sick  this  morning, 
and  she  worries  so  because  father  didn't  come  home  last 
night." 

Deane  talked  cheerfully  to  her  as  he  led  the  way  to 
the  court  room  and  succeeded  in  raising  her  spirits.  A 
number  of  minor  cases  were  disposed  of,  and  then  the 
rioters  were  brought  in.  There  were  ten  of  them,  and 
as  they  entered  there  were  scattered  cheers  which  the 
bailiffs  repressed. 

Fischer  came  first,  and  there  was  an  expression  on  his 
face  which  Deane  never  had  seen  before.  He  carried 
his  head  erect,  and  gazed  defiantly  at  the  judge  and  the 
cluster  of  police  officials.  It  told  of  unsuppressed  hatred 
and  of  a  sullen  lust  for  revenge.  One  eye  was  dis- 
colored, and  the  fingers  of  his  right  hand  were  bandaged. 
He  had  no  look  for  the  spectators  until  his  daughter's, 
voice  attracted  him. 

"  Papa !  papa !  "  she  cried  in  accents  hardly  audible 
above  the  confusion,  but  the  father's  ears  caught  it.  He 
looked  into  her  eager  and  tear-stained  face  as  she  reached 


1I2  THE   BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

her  arms  out  to  him,  and  a  smile  softened  the  lines  about 
his  mouth. 

"  Annieta !  My  dear  Annieta !  "  he  answered,  step- 
ping out  of  the  line  and  leaning  toward  her  over  the 
rail  which  separated  them. 

"  Stand  back  there ! "  ordered  a  court  attendant, 
grasping  him  by  the  arm. 

With  a  cry  like  a  wild  animal  Fischer  sprang  on  him 
and  bore  him  to  the  floor.  Several  officers  dashed  to  the 
struggling  men  and  tore  them  apart. 

"  Handcuff  the  prisoner !  "  ordered  the  judge,  his 
face  pale  with  anger.  Fischer  offered  no  further  resist- 
ance as  the  manacles  were  bound  to  his  wrists.  His 
eyes  searched  for  his  daughter,  and  he  smiled  encourage- 
ment with  lips  swollen  from  a  blow  received  in  the 
melee. 

Witnesses  told  of  the  meeting  and  of  the  riot  which 
followed  the  coming  of  the  police.  Deane  announced 
that  he  would  call  no  witnesses. 

"  The  prosecution  has  given  sufficient  testimony,"  he 
declared.  "  The  man  who  strikes  for  living  wages  is 
not  per  se  a  criminal.  He  is  not  outside  the  pale  of  that 
clause  of  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States  which 
was  intended  forever  to  safeguard  to  the  people  their 
right  peaceably  to  assemble.  It  has  become  the  practice 
of  the  police  of  this  and  other  large  cities  to  treat  with 
contempt  this  splendid  heritage  from  liberty-loving 
forefathers.  These  men  did  not  interfere  with  street 
traffic,  they  were  conducting  themselves  in  an  orderly 


THE    GIFT  OF  A  ROSE  II3 

manner,  they  were  discussing  their  best  interests,  and 
they  were  entitled  to  that  privilege.  I  ask  that  the 
prisoners  be  discharged  and  the  police  reprimanded." 

"  The  prisoners  are  discharged,"  the  judge  said,  after 
a  dignified  interval  of  silence.  He  arose  and  leaning 
forward  directed  his  remarks  to  the  captain  of  the  police 
precinct. 

"  The  wearing  of  a  uniform,"  he  said,  "  does  not 
make  a  legislator  of  a  policeman,  neither  does  it  give 
him  license  to  break  the  law.  If  he  attacks  or  disturbs 
a  meeting  of  citizens  called  for  a  peaceable  purpose  and 
conducted  without  disorder,  it  is  not  only  the  right  but 
also  the  duty  of  the  citizens  whose  liberties  are  thus 
menaced  to  resist  by  force.  This  is  the  law,  Captain, 
and  you  will  do  well  to  read  it  and  heed  it.  The  prison- 
ers are  discharged  on  this  complaint.  August  Fischer, 
stand  up." 

Fischer  arose  and  faced  the  judge. 

"  You  are  fined  ten  dollars  for  contempt  of  court,  or 
in  default  of  its  payment  ten  days'  imprisonment." 

The  prisoner  smiled  disdainfully  and  took  his  seat. 
An  attendant  pushed  forward  and  whispered  something 
to  the  judge.  The  latter  listened  quietly,  and  sat  with 
bowed  head  for  an  interval,  then  looked  intently  at 
Fischer. 

"  Fischer,"  he  said,  and  Deane  sprang  to  his  feet, 
alert  to  meet  some  new  complication,  "  I  have  just 
learned  something  which  induces  me  to  overlook  your 
8 


II4  THE   BOTTOM   OF    THE    WELL 

action  in  this  court  room.  I  will  reprimand  you  and 
remit  your  fine.  Go  at  once  to  your  home." 

Ignorant  of  the  sad  significance  of  these  words,  some 
of  the  spectators  applauded.  The  color  left  Fischer's 
face,  and  he  gazed  dumbly  at  his  daughter. 

"  Fischer's  wife  died  an  hour  ago,"  Wallace  Dare 
whispered  in  Deane's  ear.  "  You  break  the  news  to  him, 
will  you  ?  I  don't  dare  to  tell  him !  I  will  try  to  take 
care  of  Annieta.  My  God,  that  man  fairly  worshipped 
his  wife!  His  only  son  in  his  grave,  and  his  wife  a 
corpse  awaiting  him !  "  and  the  sympathetic  artist  broke 
down  and  wept. 

Before  Deane  could  reach  the  side  of  the  stricken 
husband  others  had  told  him  of  the  sudden  death  of  his 
wife.  He  said  no  word,  and  seemed  oblivious  to  the 
presence  of  Annieta  who  fell  fainting  at  his  feet.  He 
clutched  at  his  throat  as  if  a  noose  were  tightening  about 
it,  pushed  aside  those  who  spoke  rough  words  of  comfort 
and  rushed  bare-headed  from  the  court  room  and  into 
the  street. 


CHAPTER  IX 

A  DECLABATION  OF  WAE 

THE  watchman  who  guarded  the  gates  to  the  Buck- 
ingham mansion  looked  carefully  at  Deane's  card  before 
admitting  him.  The  liveried  doorman  was  equally 
exacting,  but  conducted  him  to  a  small  reception  room 
and  then  vanished.  After  an  irritating  interval  this 
flunkey  reappeared  and  led  the  way  down  a  gloomy  hall, 
standing  aside  at  the  doorway  of  a  dimly  lighted  room. 

"  Mr.  Stanley  Deane !  "  announced  the  servant. 

"  Come  in,  sir,"  called  a  voice  from  out  the  half  dark- 
ness, and  a  powerfully  built  man  arose  from  a  desk 
chair.  He  motioned  Deane  to  a  chair  at  the  edge  of  a 
Japanese  screen  and  curtly  asked  him  to  be  seated.  He 
did  not  offer  his  hand  or  proffer  any  conventional  greet- 
ing. 

On  the  desk  was  a  student's  lamp  so  placed  as  to 
throw  a  fairly  strong  light  on  the  face  of  the  visitor,  but 
the  features  of  the  master  of  the  Buckingham  mills  were 
shrouded  in  shadows.  It  was  evident  that  the  million- 
aire had  been  writing,  the  desk  being  covered  with  letters 
and  manuscript  Over  his  eyes  was  a  shield  which  he 
did  not  remove  during  the  interview  that  followed.  A 


n6  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

grinning  skull  served  for  a  paper  weight  and  gleamed 
chalky  white  in  the  full  radiance  of  the  lamp. 

Faint  as  was  the  light,  it  revealed  the  sturdy  and  mus- 
cular figure  of  a  man  in  the  full  prime  of  life.  There 
was  no  sign  of  gray  in  the  black  hair  or  in  the  closely 
trimmed  beard  which  covered  a  massive  chin.  Deane 
could  not  see  the  eyes  but  felt  their  searching  gaze.  The 
fingers  were  long  and  sinewy,  and  he  had  a  habit  of 
running  them  through  his  hair  in  moments  of  anger  or 
excitement. 

Before  a  word  had  been  spoken  Deane  knew  that  his 
mission  was  foredoomed  to  failure.  The  personality 
of  the  factory  owner  seemed  to  radiate  implacable  stub- 
bornness. His  attitude  was  a  challenge  and  even  his 
silence  a  threat.  The  young  lawyer  threw  himself  on 
guard,  and  returned  the  steady  scrutiny  of  his  antag- 
onist. 

"  I  am  in  receipt  of  a  communication  from  the  men 
who  were  formerly  in  my  employ,"  Buckingham  began, 
carefully  measuring  each  word,  "  in  which  it  is  stated 
that  you  are  authorized  to  represent  them.  In  what 
capacity  do  you  represent  them  ?  " 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  toyed  with  a  steel 
paper-cutter. 

"  In  a  legal  capacity,"  answered  Deane,  determined 
to  keep  his  temper.  "  I  am  authorized  to  receive  from 
you  any  proposition  you  may  have  to  offer,  but  not  to 
make  terms  without  first  submitting  the  clauses  to 
them." 


A  DECLARATION   OF   WAR  117 

"  Your  responsibilities  are  not  great,"  remarked 
Buckingham,  with  a  hardly  disguised  sneer.  "  So  that 
there  may  be  no  chance  for  a  misunderstanding  I  will 
acquaint  you  with  my  terms:  Those  of  my  employes 
who  return  within  forty-eight  hours  will  be  given  work 
at  the  reduced  scale  of  wages;  those  who  fail  to  do  so 
will  never  again  be  allowed  within  the  walls  of  the 
Buckingham  mills.  Kindly  convey  this  information  to 
them  in  words  as  plain  as  these  ?  "  >-*x< , 

"  If  this  is  your  reason  for  asking  an  interview  you 
might  better  have  spared  my  time  and  your  own,"  said 
Deane  coldly. 

"  I  had  another  reason  in  which  you  will  be  more 
keenly  interested,"  continued  the  millionaire,  looking 
closely  at  the  young  lawyer.  "  I  am  informed  that  you 
belong  to  the  English  family  of  Deanes." 

"  That  is  a  matter  of  common  knowledge,"  returned 
Deane. 

"  You  mean  that  it  is  a  matter  of  common  report,  do 
you  not  ?  "  deliberately  asked  Amos  Buckingham. 

The  young  lawyer  would  have  been  more  than  human 
had  he  preserved  his  poise  when  this  unexpected  ques- 
tion was  put  to  him.  The  inference  of  the  words  was 
plain  enough,  but  the  sneer  with  which  they  were  deliv- 
ered gave  the  weight  of  a  blow.  Was  it  possible  that 
this  man  knew  the  story  of  his  past  ?  He  had  thought 
that  only  the  old  lawyer  who  drafted  the  papers  giving 
him  his  name  and  legal  rights  possessed  this  secret 


n8  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  sir,"  he  hesitated,  like  a 
fighter  sparring  for  a  chance  to  recover  his  breath. 

"  You  understand  me  only  too  well,"  bluntly  re- 
sponded Amos  Buckingham.  "  You  are  no  more  the 
son  of  the  late  Bear- Admiral  Deane,  or  the  nephew  of 
Sir  Whitaker  Deane,  than  you  are  my  son.  I  know 
something  of  your  history,  young  man,  and  right  well 
you  know  now  that  I  do.  You  were  a  foundling  adopted 
by  Admiral  Deane.  If  it  will  relieve  you  to  know,  I 
will  inform  you  that  I  am  probably  the  only  person  in 
this  country  outside  of  yourself  who  is  acquainted  with 
the  truth  of  this  matter.  You  certainly  have  not  adver- 
tised it." 

"  I  shall  leave  that  for  you  to  do,"  replied  Deane, 
hotly.  His  mind  had  worked  with  wonderful  rapidity 
during  the  few  moments  while  Buckingham  had  been 
making  this  startling  disclosure.  Instead  of  dismay  he 
felt  a  certain  sense  of  relief  that  the  whole  burden  of 
this  secret  had  fallen  from  him,  but  he  was  also  shrewd 
enough  to  realize  that  the  man  before  him  had  some  end 
to  serve  in  making  the  declaration.  His  next  words 
proved  the  truth  of  this  intuitive  surmise. 

"  I  do  not  propose  to  interfere  in  your  personal 
affairs,"  Buckingham  said  in  a  less  aggressive  tone, 
"  provided  you  do  not  interfere  in  mine." 

"  I  think  I  understand  you.  You  would  have  me 
withdraw  my  support  from  the  men  in  your  shops  who 
have  struck  against  an  unwarranted  reduction  in 


A  DECLARATION   OF   WAR  119 

"  I  would  advise  you  to  attend  strictly  to  your  own 
affairs,"  he  said  sharply. 

"  If  I  persist  in  trying  to  help  the  men  to  get  their 
rights,  I  presume  you  will " 

"  I  am  making  no  threats,  and  I  shall  not  discuss  any 
future  plan  of  action  with  you,"  interrupted  Bucking- 
ham. 

"  Let  me  say  to  you,"  calmly  responded  Deane,  "  that 
in  whatever  I  may  do  I  shall  not  be  swerved  by  a  fear  of 
any  disclosures  you  may  make  concerning  my  past.  I 
came  rightfully  by  the  name  of  Stanley  Deane,  and  I 
am  the  lawful  and  unquestioned  heir  to  the  estates  once 
owned  by  Kear-Admiral  Deane  and  his  brother,  Sir 
Whitaker  Deane.  I  have  never  laid  claim  to  exalted 
birth.  At  the  first  opportunity  I  renounced  the  titles 
and  honors  which  were  within  my  reach,  and  I  came  to 
this  country,  one  which  boasts  that  the  worth  of  its 
citizenship  is  not  based  on  birth  or  wealth." 

"  That  is  all  very  fine,"  sneered  the  millionaire,  "  but 
what  would  that  gallant  officer,  Admiral  Stanley  Deane, 
think  if  he  knew  that  the  one  who  bears  his  name  can 
find  a  cause  no  more  worthy  than  the  leadership  of  a 
pack  of  ignorant  and  law-defying  workmen  ?  " 

"  He  would  think  it  a  higher  ambition  than  to  grind 
a  fortune  out  of  their  underpaid  labor,"  responded 
Deane  with  warmth.  "  I  am  fully  capable  of  acting  in 
a  manner  that  will  honor  the  memory  of  that  splendid 
gentleman,  and  I  will  ask  you,  Mr.  Buckingham,  to 
leave  his  name  and  all  connected  with  it  out  of  this  in- 


I20  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

terview.  He  cannot  defend  me;  I  need  not  defend 
him." 

Buckingham  tapped  savagely  on  his  desk  with  the 
steel  paper  cutter,  and  for  an  interval  looked  steadily  at 
the  young  man  who  dared  defy  him  despite  the  secret 
which  he  held. 

"  If  your  father — whoever  he  was — bequeathed  to  you 
the  average  of  common  sense,  you  will  think  twice  before 
you  commit  yourself  to  a  plan  of  action,"  he  said,  rais- 
ing his  voice  and  leaning  forward  in  his  chair.  "  I  own 
the  Buckingham  mills.  That  property  is  mine  to  do 
with  as  I  please;  tell  your  ragged  clients  that!  Tell 
them  that  I  can  sell  it,  merge  it  into  a  trust,  close  it 
down,  dismantle  the  buildings,  give  them  away  or  let 
them  crumble  into  ruins.  Tell  them  that  the  law  gives 
me  that  discretion.  I  can  employ  one  man  or  a  thou- 
sand, and  offer  one  dollar  a  day  in  wages  or  ten." 

"  I  presume  you  concede  the  same  rights  to  all  other 
employers  of  labor  ?  " 

"  I  do." 

"  It  follows  that  if  the  employers  choose  to  act  in 
concert  they  can  suspend  the  industry  of  the  nation  ?  " 

"  They  can." 

"  In  other  words,"  continued  Deane,  "  the  worker 
lives  only  by  the  consent  of  those  who  have  the  power 
to  grant  him  employment,  and  he  must  accept  with 
humility  that  which  is  offered  him  ?  " 

"  Exactly  so,  and  the  sooner  that  idea  is  pounded  into 
their  heads  the  better  it  will  be  for  all  concerned," 


A  DECLARATION  OF   WAR  12i 

responded  Amos  Buckingham.  "  I  don't  hire  men  be- 
cause I'm  interested  in  their  welfare;  I  hire  them  to 
make  money  on  their  labor.  I  pay  them  as  little  as  I 
have  to,  and  they  work  for  me  because  they  can  do  no 
better  elsewhere.  That's  the  beginning  and  the  end  of 
the  so-called  problem  of  capital  and  labor.  Wages  are 
fixed  by  the  same  law  which  determines  the  price  of  a 
bale  of  cotton." 

"  Except  that  bales  of  cotton  don't  think  or  strike  or 
vote." 

"  Or  threaten,  plot  or  fight,"  added  the  factory  lord 
in  a  burst  of  temper. 

"  If  all  employers  were  of  your  type  the  men  would 
be  forced  to  fight  or  die,"  retorted  Deane.  "  But  I  am 
not  in  a  mood  to  continue  this  hopeless  wrangle.  You 
have  declared  war  against  the  men  who  have  served  you 
faithfully,  and  I  shall  do  all  I  can  to  help  them  whip 
you.  Call  your  servant  and  have  him  show  me  out." 

"  One  word  before  you  go,"  said  the  master  of  the 
mills,  touching  a  bell.  "  I  shall  hold  you  primarily 
responsible  for  the  acts  of  the  men  who  have  accepted 
your  leadership.  Men  of  your  stripe  are  a  menace  to 
our  vested  interests.  Keep  on  appealing  to  the  preju- 
dices and  passions  of  these  cattle,  agitate  your  reform 
crusades  and  topple  over  society,  for  all  I  care,  but  if 
your  tools  and  dupes  damage  one  bit  of  my  property  or 
menace  me  or  mine,  I  will  hold  you  personally  respon- 
sible 1  Do  you  understand  me,  sir  ?  " 


122  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

"  It  would  be  hard  to  misunderstand  you,"  replied 
Deane.  At  this  moment  a  servant  appeared. 

"  Show  the  gentleman  to  his  carriage,"  said  Mr.  Buck- 
ingham, and  without  further  word  the  two  parted. 

As  Deane  walked  down  the  long  hall  he  felt  that  the 
eyes  of  the  millionaire  were  on  him.  He  heard  the 
rustle  of  a  woman's  gown  as  he  neared  the  main  stair- 
way, and  then  came  face  to  face  with  Alice. 

His  cheeks  were  flushed  with  anger,  and  his  heart  was 
bitter  against  the  father  of  the  woman  he  loved.  Yet 
not  until  that  moment  did  the  thought  strike  him  that 
Amos  Buckingham  could  and  doubtless  would  impart 
his  secret  to  Alice.  Perhaps  he  had  already  done  so? 
Stanley  had  longed  for  the  time  when  he  could  tell  her 
with  his  own  lips,  but  he  was  being  swept  along  by  cur- 
rents against  which  he  was  powerless. 

It  seemed  an  age  since  he  had  walked  with  her  in  the 
garden,  and  he  instinctively  raised  his  hand  to  his  coat 
to  see  if  the  rose  she  had  given  him  was  still  there.  His 
fingers  touched  it,  but  the  rose  had  wilted  and  taken  on 
a  deeper  red. 

"  Good  evening,  Mr.  Deane,"  she  said,  a  peculiar 
smile  on  her  lips. 

"  I  have  been  making  an  official  call,"  he  said,  with  a 
bitter  smile.  "  My  first  and  my  last  I  presume  you 
know  why  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  do,  but  really,  it  does  not  concern  me," 
she  said  coldly,  her  eyes  looking  down  the  hall. 

Deane  stepped  back  as  if  struck  an  unseen  blow.    It 


A  DECLARATION  OF   WAR  123 

was  certain  that  the  mystery  of  his  pist  had  been  re- 
vealed to  her.  It  was  likely  that  Amos  Buckingham  had 
seen  them  walking  in  the  garden,  that  he  had  branded 
him  as  a  foundling,  and  pictured  him  in  a  worse  light 
than  the  truth  warranted.  One  dream  was  over. 

"  Good  night,  Miss  Buckingham,"  he  said,  hardly 
lifting  his  eyes. 

"  Good  night,"  she  replied,  in  a  voice  so  low  that  he 
scarcely  heard  it. 

When  the  doors  closed  behind  Deane,  Amos  Bucking- 
ham strode  down  the  hall  and  confronted  his  daughter. 
He  had  removed  the  shade  from  his  eyes,  and  looked 
sternly  at  her  without  speaking.  Instead  of  shrinking 
beneath  that  cold  stare  her  timidity  vanished,  and  she 
drew  herself  up  proudly. 

"  What  is  it,  papa  ?  " 

"  Do  you  know  that  man  ?  "  he  demanded,  running 
his  long  fingers  through  his  hair. 

"  I  would  not  stand  here  and  talk  with  him  if  I  did 
not  know  him." 

"  Where  did  you  first  meet  him  ?  " 

"At  Cragmere,  the  country  estate  of  Sir  Whitaker 
Deane,  his  uncle,"  Alice  said,  the  toe  of  a  dainty  shoe 
tapping  the  rug  nervously. 

"  His  uncle !  "  sneered  the  millionaire,  but  the  expres- 
sion on  his  lips  was  lost  on  her. 

"  That  was  five  years  ago,"  she  said,  with  rising  tem- 
per, "  and  twice  when  I  tried  to  tell  you  how  we  were 


124  THE  BOTTOM   OF    THE    WELL 

entertained  there,  you  did  not  have  the  patience  or  the 
interest  to  listen  to  me." 

"  I  did  not  know  then  what  I  do  now,"  sternly  said 
her  father.  "  Do  you  know  that  he — that  he 

"  Yes,  I  know  that  he  is  opposing  you,"  she  inter- 
rupted, "  and  I  told  him  a  moment  ago  that  it  does  not 
concern  me  in  the  least." 

"  He  is  an  agitator  and  a  socialist,"  replied  Bucking- 
ham hotly. 

"  And  a  gentleman,"  she  added,  her  dark  eyes  flash- 
ing. 

"  Since  when  did  you  become  his  apologist  ?  "  he 
demanded.  "  Alice,  I  have  never  interfered  with  your 
pleasures,  and  have  relied  on  your  own  good  judgment, 
but  I  must  insist  that  you  strike  this  fellow  from  your 
list  of  acquaintances.  I  have  reasons  which  I  shall  not 
tell  you  at  the  present  time,  but  if  you  knew  them  you 
would  thank  me  for  this  advice." 

"  I  shall  not  permit  you  to  name  my  friends  or 
acquaintances !  "  she  cried. 

"  You— you  should  not  talk  to  your  father  like  that," 
he  said  in  a  softer  tone. 

For  a  moment  father  and  daughter  stood  face  to  face, 
but  he  read  no  sign  of  surrender  in  her  pale  and  beauti- 
ful features.  He  hesitated  a  moment,  attempted  to 
speak,  and  then  turned  and  walked  with  bowed  head  to 
his  library. 

Her  lips  quivered ;  she  took  a  step  towards  him,  then 
drew  back  and  watched  until  he  had  disappeared  in  the 


A  DECLARATION  OF   WAR  ^5 

library.  With  a  sob  on  her  lips  she  ran  up  the  stairs, 
entered  her  room  and  threw  herself  on  her  couch. 

An  hour  passed,  and  another  visitor  was  admitted 
through  the  Buckingham  gates.  This  was  Mr.  Jacoby. 
He  had  been  retained  by  Superintendent  Hunter  of  the 
Buckingham  mills  to  keep  watch  of  the  leaders  of  the 
union,  and  his  work  had  been  so  satisfactory  that  it  had 
attracted  Buckingham's  notice. 

Mr.  Jacoby  had  passed  his  forty-fifth  year.  The  bald- 
ness of  his  scalp  was  offset  by  a  mustache  so  black  that 
it  hinted  at  dyes,  and  no  razor  could  entirely  remove  a 
beard  which  punctured  his  chin  and  cheeks  like  the 
points  of  a  million  minute  and  blue-black  bayonets.  His 
hands  were  hairy,  his  fingers  constantly  in  motion.  His 
eyes  were  smiling  in  a  repellent  way,  and  his  lips  wore 
a  smirk  which  heightened  this  aspect  of  jovial  cunning. 

Jacoby  took  the  seat  occupied  earlier  in  the  evening 
by  Deane,  and  waited  patiently  until  his  employer 
looked  up  from  his  desk.  That  gentleman  suddenly 
dropped  his  pen  and  wheeled  in  his  chair. 

"  Do  you  know  anything  about  a  man  named  Stanley 
Deane  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  He's  a  lawyer  and  a  swell  labor  agitator,"  softly 
replied  Jacoby. 

"  Do  you  know  anything  against  him  ?  " 

"  He's  been  mixed  up  in  most  of  the  big  strikes,  and 
the  men  do  just  what  he  tells  them.  He " 

"  You  know  no  more  about  him  than  I  do,  and  not  as 
much,"  declared  the  millionaire  impatiently.  "Why 


i26  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

don't  you  admit  it.  Listen  to  me,  Jacoby.  This  man 
Deane  is  not  what  you  think  he  is.  He  passes  for  an 
aristocrat,  but  I  happen  to  know  that  he  is  of  low  birth. 
He  has  a  large  fortune  which  fell  to  him  by  the  accident 
of  luck,  but  his  instincts  are  those  which  come  to  him 
from  a  depraved  ancestry.  Perhaps  you  can  understand 
how  it  comes  that  a  man  thus  placed  should  declare  war 
against  the  established  order  of  things.  I  consider  him 
the  most  dangerous  man  in  this  country.  He  has  money, 
education,  shrewdness,  address,  some  talent,  but  at  heart 
he  is  a  social  rebel.  I  wish  you  to  watch  him  closely." 

"  I'll  do  so,  sir,"  asserted  Jacoby. 

"  That's  all  I  have  to  say  to  you." 

"  One  word,  Mr.  Buckingham,  if  you  please,"  ven- 
tured the  detective,  lowering  his  voice  and  looking  about 
the  room  to  make  sure  he  would  not  be  overheard.  Some 
of  your  men  are  very  bitter  against  you.  There  are 
anarchists  among  them.  There's  Fischer,  for  instance. 
He  is " 

"  Who  is  Fischer  ?    I've  heard  of  him." 

"  You — your  automobile  ran  over  his  boy,"  explained 
Jacoby. 

Buckingham  frowned  but  said  nothing. 

"  He  is  very  sore  against  you,  and  it  will  be  well  to 
keep  an  eye  on  him,"  advised  Jacoby.  "  The  police 
clubbed  him  the  night  the  strikers  had  a  meeting,  and 
his  wife  died  the  next  day.  If " 

"  Do  not  bother  me  with  matters  which  don't  directly 


A   DECLARATION  OF   WAR  127 

concern  me,"  broke  in  Buckingham.  "  You  look  after 
Deane.  If  violence  is  committed  he  will  be  found  back 
of  it." 

"  Very  well,  sir,"  and  Mr.  Jacoby  backed  smilingly 
out  of  the  room. 


CHAPTEK  X 

CAPTAIN  STAEK  DROPS  INTO  THE  WELL 

So  rarely  did  a  carriage  stop  in  front  of  the  establish- 
ment conducted  by  William  Parker  that  the  loungers 
beneath  its  awning  were  surprised  when  a  well-appointed 
four-wheeler  swung  out  from  the  procession  of  trucks 
and  came  to  a  halt  at  the  edge  of  its  curb.  On  the 
driver's  seat  was  a  huge  iron-bound  box,  a  leather  trunk 
and  an  old-fashioned  valise,  and  back  of  it  were  a  num- 
ber of  packages  which  seemed  in  imminent  danger  of 
falling.  The  lone  passenger  occupied  the  space  not 
filled  by  a  formidable  portmanteau  and  several  satchels. 

He  thrust  a  bushy  head  out  of  the  window  and  looked 
about  with  a  searching  but  doubtful  gaze. 

"  Do  you  reckon  this  here  is  the  place,  mister  ?  "  he 
asked,  looking  up  at  the  driver. 

"  Surest  thing  ye  know,  boss,"  was  the  confident  reply. 

"  It's  better  to  be  sartain  than  sure ;  as  old  King  Solo- 
man  onct  said,"  declared  the  passenger,  opening  the  car- 
riage door  after  several  abortive  efforts  and  struggling 
stiffly  to  the  sidewalk.  "  We  are  carryin'  too  much 
freight  to  unload  at  the  wrong  port." 

He  looked  the  building  over  from  door  sills  to  roof 


CAPTAIN  STARK  DROPS   INTO    THE   WELL     129 

line,  and  seemed  even  more  doubtful  at  the  end  of  his 
scrutiny. 

"  See  here,  mates,"  he  said,  advancing  to  the  group 
of  men  who  smoked  black  pipes  as  they  looked  stolidly 
on,  "  dew  you  know  if  a  chap  named  Long  Bill  runs  this 
here  place  ? " 

"  Xever  heard  of  no  such  man,"  growled  one  of  them. 

"  What  did  I  tell  ye !  "  exclaimed  the  traveller,  with 
more  of  disappointment  than  of  indignation  in  his  voice. 
"  This  sartainly  is  an  ornary  town  tew  find  anybody  in." 

"  This  card  says  nothin'  about  any  Long  Bill,"  de- 
clared the  driver,  consulting  a  piece  of  paper.  "  It  says 
1  Mr.  William  Parker,'  plain  as  the  nose  on  yer  mug,  an* 
dis  is  de  place  an'  don't  forgit  I  told  ye  so.  Dis  is  de 
street,  and  there's  de  number  over  de  door." 

In  startling  corroboration  of  the  accuracy  of  this 
statement  the  folding  doors  parted  and  Mr.  William 
Parker  appeared.  His  solemn  face  lighted  with  a  smile 
when  he  saw  the  newcomer. 

"  Captain  Jake,  I'm  glad  to  see  you !  "  he  exclaimed, 
extending  his  huge  hand.  "  I  thought  I  recognized  your 
voice." 

"  The  sight  of  you  is  good  for  sore  eyes,  Bill !  "  de- 
clared Captain  Jake  Stark,  warmly  greeting  his  former 
first  mate.  Then  he  looked  suspiciously  about  and 
motioned  Parker  to  one  side. 

"  I  meant  to  have  written  you  erbout  one  thing,  Bill," 
he  whispered.    "  It  won't  dew  for  me  to  be  Jake  Stark 
here  in  New  York ;  wiU  it,  Bill  \  " 
9 


i3o  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

"  Why  not  ?  "  smiled  Long  Bill. 

"You'd  orter  know  as  well  as  anybody,"  protested 
the  once  owner  of  the  Frolic. 

"  New  York  knows  nothing  about  that,  and  never  will 
unless  you  tell  them,"  said  the  tall  man.  "  This  is  a 
mighty  funny  place,  captain,  as  you  will  find  out.  They 
don't  remember  anything  more'n  a  week." 

"  Names  is  cheap,"  argued  the  other,  "  and  it  seemed 
tew  me  that  it  was  just  as  well  ter  be  on  the  safe  side ; 
as  King  Soloman  onct  said.  Of  course  I'd  like  to  hang 
onter  the  old  name  of  Jake  Stark,  but  it  is  the  kind  of 
er  name  that  sticks  out  like  a  sore  thumb  in  a  fog,  an'  I 
was  thinkin'  as  how  perhaps  some  more  stylish  name 
might  throw  'em  off  the  course.  I  was  thinkin',"  and  he 
dropped  his  voice  so  low  that  Long  Bill  had  difficulty 
in  hearing  him,  "  I  was  thinkin'  that  '  Captain  Mont- 
gomery '  might  be  safer  and  softer  than  plain  *  Jake 
Stark.'  For  a  full  name  I  had  thought  out  '  Captain 
J.  Percival  Montgomery.'  How  do  you  like  that,  Bill  ?  " 
and  the  old  smuggler  waited  eagerly  for  the  verdict. 

"  You'll  be  Captain  Jake  to  me,  and  Captain  Stark 
to  the  rest  of  them,"  was  the  decided  answer,  as  a  look 
of  surprised  disgust  overspread  his  face.  "  '  J.  Percival 
Montgomery ' !  '  Captain  J.  Percival  Montgomery ! '  " 
he  repeated  in  fine  scorn.  "  Captain  Jake,  I'm  ashamed 
of  you!" 

"  I  read  it  in  a  book,  onct,"  the  abashed  mariner  ex- 
plained, removing  his  broad-brimmed  hat  and  wiping 
his  brow  with  a  silk  handkerchief,  "  and  it  sounded 


C4PTAIN  STARK  DROPS   INTO   THE    WELL     131 

kinder  New  Yorkish  tew  me,  so  I  thought  I'd  dress  to 
fit  the  name,  but  if  you  kick  I'll  give  it  up.  'Nough 
said,  Bill ;  we'll  stick  tew  Captain  Jake.  Where  can  I 
stow  my  duds  until  I  find  a  regular  bunk  ?  " 

"  I  have  a  room  ready  for  you,"  said  Long  Bill.  "  If 
you  like  it  you  can  stay  here  as  long  as  you  please  on 
easy  terms." 

"  Can  I  ?  "  exclaimed  the  delighted  captain,  and  a  few 
minutes  later  his  baggage  was  scattered  about  the  room 
adjoining  that  used  by  Long  Bill,  and  the  captain  sur- 
veyed the  place  with  unalloyed  satisfaction. 

"  Anchored  at  last !  "  he  grinned,  after  having  settled 
with  his  driver  for  an  amount  which,  as  he  protested, 
"  stood  for  the  profits  on  a  sheep  and  a  half."  Ten 
eventful  years  had  passed  since  he  and  Long  Bill  had 
met,  and  they  talked  of  many  things  while  he  unpacked 
his  belongings. 

"  How  dew  ye  like  these  new  clothes,  Bill  ?  "  he  had 
asked,  holding  himself  erect.  "  I  reckoned  they'd  fit 
well  with  some  such  name  as  J.  Percival  Montgomery. 
They  cost  a  heap  of  money,  but  I've  cleaned  up  a  lot  in 
the  last  five  years.  What  dew  ye  think  of  'em,  Long 
Bill?" 

"  They'd  do  all  right  for  J.  Percival,  but  not  for  you, 
Captain  Jake,"  declared  that  person.  "  Take  them  off 
and  put  on  a  white  man's  clothes." 

A  pained  look  came  to  Jake  Stark's  face  as  he  sur- 
veyed his  reflection  in  a  mirror.  A  high  collar  showed 
white  against  his  tanned  neck.  A  neatly  tied  red  scarf 


I32  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

was  displayed  against  a  mauve-colored  shirt.  Striped 
trousers,  a  white  waistcoat  with  flowered  pattern,  a  coat 
with  an  aggressive  check,  tanned  shoes  and  silk  stock- 
ings combined  with  a  broad-brimmed  white  hat  to  pro- 
duce a  picturesque  effect.  The  backs  of  both  hands  were 
elaborately  tattooed,  and  Long  Bill  looked  curiously  at 
the  right  one. 

The  head  of  a  snake  ran  down  from  the  wrist,  its 
opened  mouth  being  formed  by  the  juncture  of  the  fore 
and  second  finger.  The  eye  consisted  of  a  diamond  im- 
bedded in  the  joint  of  the  second  finger. 

This  remarkable  piece  of  tattooing  had  been  executed 
when  Stark  was  a  young  man.  The  diamond  was  fast- 
ened to  a  small  gold  pin,  and  the  operator  had  screwed 
this  pin  into  the  bone  of  the  second  finger  joint !  For 
months  the  skin  refused  to  heal  around  the  diamond, 
and  for  a  time  blood  poisoning  was  threatened,  but 
nature  finally  reconciled  itself  to  this  irritant,  and 
formed  a  wrinkled  parchment  which  exactly  counter- 
feited the  eye  of  a  serpent. 

It  is  impossible  to  imagine  anything  more  sinister 
than  the  glitter  of  this  eye  as  Stark  made  the  snake  open 
its  mouth  and  dart  out  its  fangs.  Once  he  was  very 
proud  of  this  work  of  art,  but  that  time  long  since  had 
passed.  Once  he  would  strip  to  the  waist  and  reveal 
"  Eattletail " — as  he  called  the  tattooed  monster — coiled 
about  his  arm,  around  his  neck,  across  his  chest  and  back 
with  the  tip  of  the  rattlers  terminating  at  his  navel. 


CAPTAIN  STARK  DROPS   INTO    THE   WELL     133 

"  '  Kattletail '  doesn't  look  well  with  white  cuffs," 
quietly  observed  Long  Bill. 

"  I  reckon  that's  right,"  admitted  the  captain.  "  I'd 
give  a  good  deal  if  '  Rattletail '  would  crawl  off  of  me." 

He  held  up  his  hand  and  manipulated  his  fingers  so 
that  the  jaws  of  the  snake  snapped  viciously,  his  eye 
glittering  with  uncanny  wickedness. 

"  Ugly  this  morning,  ain't  ye  ?  "  he  growled.  "  Cost 
me  lots  of  money  and  trouble,  didn't  ye  ?  But  we'll  stick 
together,  Rattletail;  we'll  stick  together  as  long  as  we 
live,  won't  we  ?  " 

He  lowered  his  arm,  took  another  glance  in  the  mirror 
and  then  turned  to  Long  Bill. 

"  So  you  don't  like  these  togs  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  They  won't  do.  It's  a  sure  thing  that  nature  never 
intended  you  for  a  dude.  Put  on  the  old  clothes  and  feel 
comfortable  and  respectable." 

"Reckon  I'd  better,  Bill,"  he  admitted,  and  only 
those  who  saw  him  arrive  ever  had  a  glimpse  of  those 
wonderful  clothes. 

His  luggage  contained  the  relics  and  debris  of  a  gen- 
eration of  adventurous  life.  He  was  as  delighted  as  a 
child  as  he  unpacked  box  after  box  and  fondled  treasures 
he  had  not  seen  for  years.  Once  in  a  while  he  would 
open  a  package  and  present  the  contents  to  Long  Bill. 
He  gave  him  pipes  and  boxes  of  rare  old  tobacco,  a 
superb  marine  glass  such  as  Long  Bill  had  expressed  a 
wish  for  in  former  years,  and  finally  a  pocket  book, 


!34  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

which  when  opened  was  found  to  contain  five  bills  of 
one  hundred  dollars  each. 

"  You  left  something  in  here,  Captain  Jake,"  he  said, 
handing  him  the  bright  new  certificates. 

"  Left  them  for  you,  Bill,"  grinned  the  captain. 

"  I  don't  want  them,"  declared  the  proprietor  of  The 
Well. 

"  Take  'em,  Bill,  I  owe  you  that  much  and  a  lot 
more,"  insisted  Jake  Stark,  pushing  him  away.  "  I 
cleaned  up  more'n  a  hundred  thousand  down  in  the 
Argentine,  an'  I've  got  land  and  mines  that's  worth  twice 
as  much  more  right  now,  an'  the  Lord  only  knows  how 
much  they's  be  worth  in  a  few  years.  I  tell  you,  Bill,  I 
lost  a  heap  of  money  by  not  starting  in  to  be  a  business 
,man  instead  of — instead  of  what  we  uster  dew.  There's 
no  graft  like  honesty." 

He  left  one  long  and  irregular  package  until  the  others 
had  been  opened.  He  undid  it  carefully  and  took  out 
a  wonderful  collection  of  curios  which  would  have 
graced  a  museum.  There  were  bows  and  arrows  from 
all  the  native  tribes  of  South  America;  a  collection  of 
rare  shells  and  pebbles  tossed  up  on  tropical  shores; 
quaint  idols  and  relics  from  Indian  temples,  also  scores 
of  toys  and  trinkets  from  many  parts  of  the  world,  and 
finally  a  beautiful  model  of  a  warship,  perfect  in  detail 
and  glistening  in  silver  and  nickel  work. 

Jake  Stark  arrayed  all  these  on  a  large  table  and 
looked  at  them  in  silence  for  several  minutes. 

"  Do  you  know  who  those  are  for,  Long  Bill  ? "  he 


CAPTAIN  STARK  DROPS   INTO    THE   WELL    135 

asked.  It  is  likely  that  person  had  a  shrewd  suspicion, 
but  he  shook  his  head. 

"  They're  for  Mascot — when  I  find  him,"  he  said 
simply.  "  Whenever  I've  seen  anything  I  thought  Mas- 
cot would  like  I've  bought  it;  that  is,  of  course,  if  I 
happened  to  have  the  money  at  the  time.  He  always 
was  fond  of  bows  an'  arrers,  and  here's  some  that  any 
boy'd  be  tickled  ter  death  tew  own.  I  had  this  model 
made  not  long  ago.  It's  a  dandy,  eh,  Bill  ?  I'd  like  tew 
give  it  tew  him  an'  see  how  he'd  look  an'  what  he'd  say. 
You  know  how  fond  he  was  of  boats,  Bill  ?  " 

Long  Bill  swallowed  the  words  which  trembled  on  his 
lips.  Why  should  be  dispel  the  illusion  that  Mascot  was 
yet  a  boy?  What  good  would  it  do?  The  years  had 
flown,  but  the  father's  mind  retained  undimmed  the 
picture  of  the  lad  in  the  uniform  of  the  captain  of  an 
American  man-of-war.  Possibly  the  thought  which  came 
to  him  was  conveyed  to  Jake  Stark. 

"  Of  course  Mascot's  older  an'  bigger  now,"  he  said, 
after  Long  Bill  had  made  some  non-committal  remark, 
"  but  he'd  appreciate  these  things  just  the  same ;  don't 
you  think  so,  Bill  ?  " 

"  I'm  sure  he  would,"  said  his  companion. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  exclaimed  eagerly,  "  I'll  find 
Mascot  as  sure  as  we're  standin'  here  this  minute !  You 
remember  Gulliver,  don't  ye — Gulliver  who  was  our 
cook  when  the  Frolic  was  took  ?" 

"  The  dark  chap  with  the  scar  on  his  lip  ?  " 

"  That's  the  one,"  declared  Jake  Stark.     "  Let  me 


I36  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

tell  ye  somethin' !  I  seen  this  cook  in  New  Orleans  not 
more'n  a  week  ago,  an'  he  told  me  somethin'  that  came 
mighty  near  makin'  me  start  for  London  instead  of  New 
York.  Gulliver  was  in  jail  in  Kingston  for  three  years, 
an'  when  they  let  him  out  he  shipped  for  England  and 
went  to  a  town  near  London  where  he  was  born.  One 
day  he  saw  Mascot  out  ridin'  in  a  carriage  with  an  old 
gentleman !  What  dew  ye  think  of  that  ?  He  is  plumb 
sure  it  was  Mascot !  Gulliver  was  with  us  three  years 
an'  he  shorely  orter  know  Mascot.  You  know  I  allers 
said  Mascot  was  in  England,  an'  as  soon  as  I  get  rested 
up  I'm  going  over  there  an'  find  him." 

Long  Bill  did  not  attempt  to  dissuade  him  from  this 
purpose,  preferring  to  await  the  logic  of  events.  The 
captain  talked  earnestly  about  his  lost  boy  for  an  hour, 
after  which  they  had  luncheon  followed  by  a  walk  along 
the  water  front.  When  they  returned  the  captain 
"  allowed  he'd  turn  in  an'  take  a  nap,"  and  it  was  dark 
when  he  awoke. 

He  entered  the  cafe  and  discovered  Long  Bill  at  a 
table  listening  to  a  young  man  who  was  talking  excitedly. 
Captain  Stark  did  not  stand  on  ceremony  and  promptly 
intruded  on  this  conference. 

"  I'm  mighty  hungry,  Bill,"  he  declared.  "  When 
does  the  supper  bell  ring  ?  " 

"  Any  time  you  wish  to  hear  it,  captain,"  he  replied, 
and  then  turned  to  Wallace  Dare  who  was  glaring  at 
the  old  sailor.  Mr.  Dare,  this  is  Captain  Jake  Stark 
that  I  sailed  under  for  ten  years." 


CAPTAIN  STARK  DROPS  INTO    THE   WELL     137 

"  Delighted  to  meet  you,  captain !  "  exclaimed  4;he . 
young  artist,  rising  and  extending  his  hand.    "  So  Mr. 
Parker  served  under  you,  did  he  ? " 

"  The  best  first  mate  I  ever  had,"  he  said,  placing  one 
hand  on  Dare's  shoulder  and  the  other  on  Long  Bill's. 
Dare  looked  into  his  rugged  face,  saw  the  twinkle  in  his 
blue  eyes  and  caught  the  contagion  of  his  laugh  and 
liked  Captain  Jake  from  that  moment. 

"  Captain,  you  are  the  real  thing,  and  I'm  glad  to 
know  you,"  he  cried.  "  Didn't  I  hear  you  say  some- 
thing about  being  hungry  ?  " 

"  Had  nothin'  since  noon.  Looks  ter  me  as  if  Bill 
was  tryin'  ter  starve  me  out." 

"  Not  while  I'm  around,"  laughed  Dare.  "  Dine  with 
me,  Captain  Stark.  Parker  has  had  his  dinner  and  will 
be  busy  for  a  while.  I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

"  Glad  tew  dew  it,"  he  heartily  responded,  and  for 
an  hour  or  more  this  strangely  assorted  pair  talked  and 
laughed  and  dined  as  if  they  had  known  each  other  for 
years. 

Dare  plied  him  with  questions  and  induced  him  to  tell 
tales  of  the  sea.  With  a  drawing  pad  half  concealed  the 
artist  executed  clever  sketches  of  his  guest  and  won  his 
surprised  and  boisterous  approval.  Not  until  Fischer 
touched  him  on  the  arm  and  told  him  that  his  presence 
was  wanted  in  The  Well  was  Dare  aware  that  it  was 
past  ten  o'clock.  He  presented  Fischer  to  Captain  Stark, 
explained  that  he  had  been  Parker's  captain  for  years, 


I38  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

and  insisted  that  he  should  be  given  the  privileges  of 
The  Well  during  his  stay  in  New  York. 

For  an  instant  Fischer  had  a  suspicion  that  this  new 
friend  of  Dare's  was  a  detective,  but  when  he  felt  the 
grip  of  the  calloused  hands  and  studied  the  weather- 
beaten  face  he  dismissed  that  thought. 

"  Any  friend  of  Mr.  Parker's  is  welcome  to  The 
Well,"  he  said,  and  led  the  way  through  the  narrow 
hall. 

It  was  a  lively  night  in  the  grim  retreat,  and  though 
the  hour  was  comparatively  early  most  of  the  active 
members  were  present.  Saxon  had  "  lowered  the  old 
oaken  bucket,"  and  was  engaged  in  a  heated  discussion 
with  Pierre  Daubeny,  "  Braidwood  Pete  "  Magoon  and 
others,  who  applauded  agreeable  sentiments  with  the 
bottom  of  their  steins.  In  the  far  end  of  the  room  the 
musically  inclined  were  massed  about  Steinbach  and  his 
zither.  Dare  introduced  the  captain  to  all  present,  ex- 
plained the  objects  of  the  club,  told  its  history  and 
proudly  displayed  its  relics. 

By  this  time  the  discussion  had  waxed  so  furious  as  to 
discourage  the  musicians.  Steinbach  put  his  zither  away 
and  his  followers  joined  with  those  who  clustered  around 
the  centre-table  above  which  hung  the  ever-popular 
bucket.  Dare  found  a  seat  for  Captain  Stark,  whose 
amazement  at  his  environment  was  so  complete  as  to 
render  him  speechless. 

The  strike  at  the  Buckingham  mills  was  the  subject, 
and  there  was  no  lack  of  orators.  Unable  to  take  an  oral 


CAPTAIN  STARK  DROPS  INciO    THE   WELL     139 

part  in  the  debate,  "  Dummy  "  Malakoff  fed  its  fires  by 
keeping  the  steins  replenished.  Saxon  was  talking  when 
Dare  and  Captain  Stark  joined  the  group,  and  since 
Saxon  had  "  lowered  the  bucket "  no  one  had  a  better 
right  to  attention. 

It  was  at  about  this  time  that  Deane  entered  the  outer 
public  room  and  asked  for  the  proprietor.  Long  Bill 
was  in  The  Well  but  he  came  out  at  once. 

"  He's  here !  "  he  whispered  to  Deane. 

"My  father?" 

"  Captain  Jake  got  here  this  morning,  and  he's  inside 
there  now,"  said  Long  Bill,  and  hurriedly  told  of  their 
conversation  and  what  little  he  had  learned.  Deane  lis- 
tened silently,  his  face  grave  and  pale. 

"  Until  I  have  learned  certain  things  I  do  not  wish  to 
make  myself  known,"  he  finally  said.  "  Are  there  many 
inside  there  to-night  ?  " 

"  There's  a  big  crowd,  and  Saxon  is  making  one  of 
his  long-winded  talks.  Captain  Jake  won't  know  you." 

"  If  I  thought  I  could  see  him  without  speaking  to 
him  I'd  go  in  a  few  minutes.  I  must  see  him,  Long 
Bill!" 

"  Come  on !  "  ordered  the  sailor,  and  with  a  beating 
heart  the  former  sea  waif  followed  him. 

The  first  figure  his  eyes  fell  on  was  that  of  Jake  Stark. 
Save  that  gray  had  crept  into  hair  and  beard,  the  face 
was  the  same  which  had  smiled  on  him  one  morning 
fourteen  years  before  when  they  parted  on  the  deck  of 
the  Alexander.  The  picture  was  so  vivid  that  he  looked 


i4o  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

to  see  if  the  hands  were  still  manacled.  The  impulse 
to  throw  himself  into  the  old  man's  arms  was  almost 
irresistible,  but  something  held  him  back. 

Captain  Stark  was  gazing  intently  at  Saxon,  his  lips 
parted  and  his  shaggy  head  shrunk  between  his  massive 
shoulders.  Saxon  was  pouring  out  a  flood  of  invective 
against  the  working  classes,  and  indicting  them  for 
stupidity  and  cowardice. 

"  Hello,  Deane !"  shouted  Dare,  springing  to  his 
feet  and  interrupting  Saxon.  "  Welcome  to  The  Well 
again !  You  met  all  of  us  when  you  were  here  before, 
didn't  you  ? "  sweeping  the  group  with  his  keen  eyes 
until  they  rested  on  Jake  Stark. 

Deane  attempted  to  retreat,  but  Dare  held  him  fast. 

"  Here's  one  you  haven't  met ! "  he  exclaimed. 
"  Stand  up,  Captain  Stark,  and  let  me  make  you 
acquainted  with  Mr.  Stanley  Deane,  one  of  the  best 
fellows  in  the  world.  Stanley,  this  is  the  old  sea  dog 
that  Bill  was  first  mate  under.  Captain,  give  him  a  grip 
with  the  hand  that  has  the  snake  with  the  diamond 
eye!" 

This  cordial  introduction  greatly  pleased  the  captain. 
He  looked  Deane  full  in  the  face,  smiled  and  extended 
the  hand  on  the  back  of  which  glittered  the  hideous  eye 
of  "  Kattletail." 

"  How  dew  ye  dew,  Mr.  Deane — did  ye  say  Deane, 
young  man  ?  "  he  hesitated,  turning  to  Dare. 

"  Deane — Stanley  Deane,"  repeated  Dare. 

"  Glad  to  know  ye,  Mr.  Deane,"  he  said,  with  a  hearty 


CAPTAIN  STARK  DROPS   INTO    THE   WELL     141 

clasp.  "  I've  known  a  lot  of  Deanes  in  my  time,  an* 
all  of  'em  but  one  was  first  rate  men.  What  my  young 
friend  says  about  my  bein'  captain  tew  Long  Bill  here 
— I  never  called  him  Parker  in  my  life,  an'  I  reckon  I 
never  will — but  I  was  yer  captain  onct,  wasn't  I,  Bill  2  " 

"  Aye,  aye,  sir !  "  saluted  Long  Bill. 

"  But  he's  my  captain  here  in  New  York,"  roared 
Jake  Stark  with  a  laugh  which  was  good  to  hear.  "  If 
I  tried  ter  navigate  these  here  waters  without  Long  Bill 
I'd  go  on  the  reefs  in  no  time  at  all.  And  that's  right, 
Mr.  Deane !  " 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it,"  hesitated  Deane,  in  a  voice 
which  seemed  faint  and  far  away. 

"  You  look  pale,  Stanley,"  said  Dare.  "  You  are 
working  too  hard." 

"  I'm  all  right,"  he  declared.  "  Don't  let  me  inter- 
rupt your  discussion." 

The  debate  broke  out  afresh,  but  Deane  was  deaf  to 
it  except  when  directly  addressed.  His  eyes  were  fixed 
on  Jake  Stark,  and  his  thoughts  drifted  back  through  the 
years.  His  father  did  not  recognize  him,  and  after  the 
introduction  paid  no  attention  to  him.  The  old  smug- 
gler was  fascinated  by  the  eloquence  of  Saxon  and 
applauded  him  frequently. 


CHAPTEK  XI 

A  STRANGE  MEETING 

"  HERE'S  to  the  men  of  the  Buckingham  mills !  "  ex- 
claimed Dare,  raising  his  glass.  "  Here's  to  their  win- 
ning this  strike !  " 

The  labor  union  men  present  drank  the  toast  with  a 
cheer,  but  Saxon  did  not  join  them. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you  ?  "  demanded  Dare, 
clanking  his  stein  against  Saxon's.  "  Why  are  you  so 
sore  against  unions  ?  " 

"Because  they  are  cowards,"  declared  Saxon,  with 
his  exasperating  drawl.  "  They  strike  with  their  mouths, 
with  their  stomachs.  Strikers?  Bah!  They  are  not 
strikers — they  are  the  stricken." 

There  was  something  particularly  annoying  in  the 
emphasis  Saxon  put  on  the  word  "  strikers,"  and  in  the 
laugh  with  which  he  repeated  it. 

"  They  do  not  strike,  they  balk  like  an  overloaded 
mule,"  continued  Saxon.  "  The  dictionary  says  that 
'  balk '  means  '  to  stop  short  and  refuse  to  proceed.* 
Those  who  prefer  to  observe  the  niceties  of  the  English 
language  should  use  this  word  to  describe  the  occasional 
fits  of  stubbornness  on  the  part  of  these  meek  slaves." 


A  STRANGE   MEETING  i43 

"  What  would  you  have  them  do  ?  "  angrily  demanded 
Magoon. 

"  Keep  on  working ;  that's  all  they're  p"x>d  for,"  scorn- 
fully replied  Saxon.  "  The  lamb  was  made  to  be  eaten, 
and  slaves  were  born  to  work.  I  would  that  one  of  our 
clean-limbed  freebooting  ancestors  could  watch  a  pro- 
cession of  horny-handed  and  humped-back  '  Knights  of 
Labor  '  coming  from  a  mill !  How  he  would  laugh !  It 
amuses  me  to  watch  these  shuffling  regiments  of  inca- 
pables  clad  in  copper-riveted  overalls  as  they  dodge  the 
wheels  of  automobiles  thundering  on  with  their  masters. 
They  are  slaves  and  cowards !  " 

When  Saxon  uttered  this  sneer,  Fischer  leaned  for- 
ward and  muttered  something  in  German.  The  veins 
of  his  neck  were  distended,  and  little  MalakofF  noticed 
that  one  of  them  throbbed  angrily.  His  blazing  eyes 
were  fixed  on  the  speaker,  but  they  did  not  see  him. 
Through  the  blue  haze  of  tobacco  smoke  he  saw  outlined 
the  face  of  his  dead  boy,  crushed  and  livid  from  the 
imprint  of  the  machine  driven  by  Buckingham,  and, 
near  that  figure,  his  wife  as  she  lay  in  her  coffin.  He 
tried  to  speak  but  his  hatred  choked  him. 

"  They  are  not  cowards !  "  cried  Dare,  shaking  his  fist 
at  the  pessimist.  "  Give  them  a  chance  and  you  will 
see  that " 

"We  did  some  fighting  in  Pittsburgh  in  18771" 
shouted  Magoon.  "  I  got  a  bullet  in  the  leg,  but  we 
chased  a  dude  militia  regiment  across  the  State  of  Penn- 
sylvania, and  if  it  hadn't  been  for " 


144  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    fT£LL 

"  That  was  before  the  day  of  unions,"  interrupted 
Saxon.  "  A  union  is  the  greatest  promoter  of  cowardly 
peace  the  world  has  ever  known.  My  friend  Deane 
knows  that,  but  he  will  not  admit  it." 

"  You  gave  two  hundred  dollars  to  the  Buckingham 
strike  committee  this  morning,"  quietly  observed  Deane. 
"  Why  did  you  do  that,  Saxon  ?  " 

"  And  he  paid  the  fines  of  the  pickets  in  the  cigar- 
makers'  strike  a  few  weeks  ago,"  declared  Dare. 

"  I  have  a  right  to  throw  away  my  money,  and  I  did 
in  both  cases,"  answered  Saxon,  the  red  mounting  to  his 
temples.  "  Captain  Stark,"  he  said,  turning  suddenly 
to  the  old  sailor,  "  to  listen  to  our  young  friend  Deane, 
one  would  think  him  a  day  worker.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
he's  an  aristocrat.  You  can  tell  it  by  looking  at  him." 

"  I  don't  know  what  he  does,"  Captain  Stark  said 
slowly,  after  looking  closely  at  Deane,  "  but  between  us, 
Mister  Saxon,  I  reckon  he  could  put  up  a  right  lively 
scrap  if  he  had  tew.  Don't  you,  now  ?  " 

Saxon's  reply  was  lost  in  the  strains  of  Steinbach's 
zither,  and  the  discussion  came  to  a  sudden  and  musical 
end.  Deane  held  a  brief  conversation  with  Dare  and 
Fischer  in  which  he  told  them  of  his  interview  with 
Buckingham.  "  It  means  a  fight  to  a  finish,"  he  said  in 
conclusion. 

"  This  is  the  time  one  cur  and  coward  will  fight  to 
the  death ! "  exclaimed  Fischer,  his  features  pale  with 
passion. 

A  dark-complexioned  stranger  edged  closer  to  the 


"  Let  me  help  you  out.      How  much  do  you  need  ? " 


Page  145. 


A  STRANGE   MEETING  145 

trio.  Deane  had  no  doubt  he  was  a  member  or  a  guest, 
but  there  was  something  in  the  covert  glance  of  his  eyes 
and  the  perpetual  smile  on  his  lips  which  jangled  a  dis- 
cordant note.  The  unknown  turned  and  seemed  absorbed 
in  the  music,  and  an  instant  later  Deane  had  dismissed 
him  from  his  thoughts.  It  was  not  his  right  to  challenge 
those  who  met  in  the  bottom  of  The  Well. 

"  Here's  another  cur  who  will  fight  to  the  death ! " 
Dare  had  exclaimed. 

"  Do  nothing  foolish,"  cautioned  Deane,  ignoring 
Dare  but  looking  keenly  at  Fischer.  "  Pay  no  attention 
to  that  balderdash  of  Saxon's.  I  happen  to  know  that 
Buckingham  is  in  a  fight  with  the  trust,  and  if  the  men 
have  patience  and  exercise  self-restraint  they  will  find 
this  small  tyrant  in  a  different  frame  of  mind  before 
many  weeks.  Do  you  need  money,  Fischer  ?  " 

"Money?    Why— I— I " 

"  Speak  right  out,  man,"  insisted  Deane,  placing  his 
hand  on  the  other's  shoulder.  "  Everything  has  piled 
on  top  of  you.  Let  me  help  you  out.  How  much  do  you 
need?" 

There  was  something  wholesome  and  unaffected  in  the 
voice  and  the  touch  of  his  hand,  something  which 
spanned  the  chasm  between  well-groomed  affluence  and 
common-place  poverty.  The  stranger  shifted  his  posi- 
tion so  that  he  could  watch  the  faces  of  these  three  men ; 
watch  them  through  eyes  half  closed  as  if  under  the  spell 
of  the  zither. 

The  look  of  hatred  faded  from  Fischer's  features  as 
10 


J46  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

the  meaning  of  this  offer  came  to  him.  His  voice  fal- 
tered, a  film  was  in  his  eyes  and  he  stood  silent  and 
abashed  before  the  man  who  would  be  his  benefactor. 
And  then  the  stranger  witnessed  a  display  of  facial 
changes  which  puzzled  him.  Fischer's  thin  lips  tight- 
ened and  took  on  a  stern  expression,  the  eyes  which  had 
softened  from  hatred  into  gratitude  blazed  with  passion 
for  an  instant,  as  if  some  recollection  had  flooded  his 
being  with  a  frenzy  for  revenge.  This  was  succeeded  by 
a  look  of  alert  and  calculating  cunning. 

"  Will  you  lend  me  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  ?  " 
he  asked  suddenly,  looking  Deane  full  in  the  face.  "  I 
can  give  you  fair  security." 

"  Your  word  is  sufficient,"  he  replied,  slightly  puzzled 
at  Fischer's  manner.  "  I  have  not  that  amount  with  me, 
but  I  will  make  out  a  check  and  endorse  it  so  that  you 
will  have  no  trouble  in  getting  it  cashed." 

"  I  have  no  right  to  take  it  from  you,"  he  said,  fever- 
ishly. "  I  have  never  borrowed  money,  and  I " 

"  Don't  say  a  word,"  insisted  Deane.  He  went  to  a 
table  in  the  rear  of  the  room  and  filled  out  the  check. 

"  By  God,  Fischer !  "  exclaimed  Dare,  his  eyes  danc- 
ing with  admiration  for  his  friend.  "  There's  a  man 
for  you.  I'd  rather  be  able  to  do  a  favor  like  that  than 
to  be  the  reincarnation  of  Michael  Angelo.  He's  a 
brick !  He  has  given  five  thousand  dollars  to  the  strike 
fund.  Do  you  know  what  he  did  for  me  not  long  ago 
when  I  was  down  and  out  ?  I  wouldn't  dare  tell  you." 


A  STRANGE   MEETING  147 

During  this  encomium  Fischer  had  been  looking  in- 
tently at  the  stranger. 

"  Who  is  that  fellow  ?  "  he  whispered  to  Dare,  with  a 
suspicious  glance  at  the  unknown  guest  The  artist  took 
a  careless  look  at  the  man  indicated. 

"  I  don't  know  him,"  he  said.  "  Some  friend  of 
Magoon's,  I  believe." 

"  We  must  be  more  careful  whom  we  let  in  here," 
Fischer  declared.  "  I  want  you  to  wait  until  the  rest 
are  gone,  Dare,  I  have  something  important  to  tell  you. 
Will  you  do  it?" 

"  Certainly,  old  man." 

At  that  moment  Deane  approached  and  slipped  some- 
thing into  Fischer's  hand. 

"  There  you  are,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone,  "  and  you 
can  take  your  time  in  paying  it.  Not  a  word!  You 
would  do  as  much  for  me  if  you  had  a  chance." 

The  draftsman's  fingers  trembled  as  he  took  the 
check.  He  looked  at  it,  then  at  Deane,  and  then  into 
the  peering  eyes  of  the  stranger  over  the  latter's 
shoulder.  For  a  moment  he  hesitated,  and  then  thrust 
the  check  into  his  pocket. 

"  You  may  be  sure  that  I  will  make  good  use  of  this," 
was  all  he  said  as  he  clasped  Deane's  hand. 

Long  Bill  entered  the  room  and  Deane  called  him 
aside  to  an  unoccupied  corner  of  The  Well. 

"  I  wish  you  to  do  something  for  me,  Long  Bill,"  he 
said,  "  and  if  possible  do  it  to-night  when  my  father 
goes  to  his  room.  I  wish  you  to  ask  him  about  my 


i48  THE   BOTTOM   OF   THE  If  ELL 

mother.  Find  from  him,  if  you  can,  who  she  was,  if 
she  be  living  or  dead,  also  where  the  marriage  records 
can  be  found — if  there  are  any.  Will  you  do  that  for 
me,  Bill?" 

"  I  suppose  I'll  have  to,"  Long  Bill  said,  after  a 
pause.  "  Sailors  don't  talk  much  about  such  things,  as 
a  rule,  and  I  don't  know  how  Captain  Jake  will  take  it, 
but  I'll  do  the  best  I  can.  If  I  was  on  ship  board  with 
him  I  wouldn't  do  it  even  for  you.  It's  ticklish  work, 
but  I'll  put  it  to  him,  my  boy,  and  if  he  talks,  all  right, 
and  if  he  don't  I  can't  help  it." 

"  I'm  sure  you  can  manage  it  in  some  way,"  said 
Deane  earnestly,  and  then  his  gaze  wandered  to  where 
Jake  Stark  was  sitting  and  watching  the  musician. 

The  bearded  lips  of  the  former  smuggler  were  parted, 
his  blue  eyes  twinkled  with  delight,  and  his  huge  frame 
shook  as  he  beat  time  with  his  tattooed  fist  to  the  strains 
of  a  Hungarian  dance  which  thrilled  from  the  strings 
at  the  magic  of  the  zither  master. 

The  joy  of  the  old  sea  dog  was  pleasing  to  witness. 
He  asked  Steinbach  if  he  had  "  ever  heered  of  er  song 
called  *  Nancy  Lee  '  ?  "  and  when  the  musician  smilingly 
executed  the  refrain,  he  could  no  longer  restrain  him- 
self. 

"  I'll  sing  ye  er  song,  boys !  "  he  announced,  raising 
his  massive  form  and  extending  his  arm  with  a  gesture 
of  authority.  "  I'll  sing  the  words,  an'  ye  can  all  come 
in  on  this  chorus,"  and  in  a  voice  which  made  the  glass 


A  STRANGE   MEETING  149 

rattle  in  the  skylight  sixty  feet  above  the  clay  floor  he 
roared : 

"  The  sailor's  wife  the  sailor's  star  shall  be; 
Yo  ho,  my  lads;  across  the  sea: 
The  sailor's  wife  the  sailor's  star  shall  be; 
The  sailor's  wife  his  star  shall  be! " 

The  sailor's  wife!  From  those  bearded  lips  those 
•words  meant  Deane's  mother ! 

A  hundred  times  before  he  had  heard  Jake  Stark  sing 
that  chorus.  Back  through  the  years  he  recalled  a  night 
when  that  voice  awoke  the  echoes  in  a  lagoon  to  which 
they  had  fled  for  safety.  He  could  see  the  stars  shining 
through  the  palm  trees  as  Jake  Stark  sang : 

"  See  there  she  stands  and  waves  her  hands 
Upon  the  quay ;  and  every  day  when  I'm  away, 
She  waits  for  me." 

While  the  members  of  The  Well  cheered  and  in- 
sisted that  the  captain  sing  the  whole  song,  Deane's  mind 
drifted  back  to  one  awful  night  when  the  mast  of  the 
Frolic  went  by  the  board,  and  when  every  wave 
swept  her  rails.  Two  men  had  been  washed  from  the 
deck,  Long  Bill  was  senseless  with  a  broken  arm  and 
three  caved  ribs,  yet  above  the  howl  of  the  hurricane 
Jake  Stark  had  cheered  the  remnant  of  his  crew  by 
singing: 

"  A  long,  long  life  to  my  sweet  wife  and  lads  at  sea; 
And  keep  yer  bones  from  Davy  Jones  where'er  you  be; 
And  may  ye  find  as  sweet  a  mate  as  Nancy  Lee; 
Yo  ho,  lads,  ho;  yo  ho." 


iSo  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

It  was  with  these  words  ringing  in  his  ears,  and  the 
glitter  of  "  Old  Rattletail's  "  diamond  eye  burned  on  his 
vision,  that  Deane  followed  Long  Bill  out  of  The 
Well  and  rushed  into  the  street  without  a  parting  word 
with  that  elongated  person,  who  re-entered  the  club- 
room  in  time  to  hear  Captain  Stark  respond  to  a  demand 
for  an  encore  with  "  The  Bay  of  Biscay,  O."  The  pres- 
ence of  his  former  first  mate  had  a  subduing  effect  on 
the  old  man,  and  he  refused  to  sing  again.  He  motioned 
Long  Bill  to  a  seat  beside  him. 

"  How  am  I  doin',  Bill  ?  "  he  asked  anxiously.  "  Am 
lactin'allright?" 

"  Of  course  you  are.  It's  no  great  trick  to  act  all 
right  in  here." 

"  Tell  me  honest,  Bill,"  he  whispered,  when  Daubeny 
had  attracted  the  attention  of  the  group,  "  Tell  me  hon- 
est, dew  ye  suppose  any  of  these  here  swell  gents  would 
suspect  what  you  an'  I  useter  dew  down  in  the  Carib- 
bean?" 

"  Meaning  smuggling  ?  " 

Captain  Jake  nodded  and  waited  eagerly. 

"  Some  of  them  wouldn't  believe  it  if  you  told  them, 
and  the  others  wouldn't  care,"  he  responded.  "  More 
things  are  smuggled  into  New  York  in  a  week  than  you 
ever  handled  in  your  life,  Captain  Jake.  Smuggling 
is  as  respectable  here  as  perjury,  evading  taxes  or  high 
finance." 

"  STo-o-o?  "  said  Jake  Stark  doubtfully. 

"  Fact." 


A  STRANGE   MEETING  iSI 

"  Wasted  our  time  down  there,  didn't  we  ?  " 

"  That's  what  we  did,"  replied  Long  Bill. 

"  Honesty  is  the  best  graft  if  you  know  how  tew  work 
it — as  old  King  Soloman  onct  said — though  that  wasn't 
exactly  the  way  he  put  it,"  reflected  Jake  Stark.  "  Tell 
me,  Bill,  who'se  the  richest  chap  here  to-night?  This 
here  Mr.  Saxon,  I  reckon  ?  " 

Long  Bill  hesitated. 

"  Mr.  Deane  is  worth  more  than  Saxon  or  any  member 
of  the  club,"  Long  Bill  said.  "  He  left  here  a  few  min- 
utes ago.  Do  you  remember  meeting  him  ?  " 

"  The  good-looking  fellow  with  the  swell  clothes  ?  " 
he  asked.  Long  Bill  nodded.  "  How  much  money  has 
he  got  ?  "  the  captain  asked. 

"  Several  millions." 

"  Ye  don't  say  so !  "  exclaimed  the  old  smuggler  with 
lively  interest.  "  Wouldn't  think  it,  now,  would  ye  ? 
Acts  natural  and  modest  like  same  as  most  folks,  only 
more  quiet.  Did  ye  notice  his  eyes,  Bill  ?  " 

"  What  about  them  3  " 

"  Kinder  reminded  me  of  Mascot's,  only  Mascot 
would  look  ye  in  the  face  all  day  an'  never  blink,"  mused 
Jake  Stark.  "  Speakin'  of  Mascot " 

"  It's  time  you  went  to  bed,  Captain  Jake,"  inter- 
rupted Long  Bill.  "  They're  all  going  now,  and  there 
are  other  nights  coming."  The  captain  admitted  that 
he  was  tired.  He  shook  hands  with  everybody  and  was 
conducted  to  his  room.  When  Long  Bill  returned  to 
The  Well  only  Fischer  and  Dare  remained. 


152  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

"  Dare  and  I  have  some  club  matters  to  look  after," 
Fischer  said.  "  We  may  stay  here  an  hour  or  so.  I'll 
lock  up  when  we  go." 

Fischer  waited  until  he  heard  Long  Bill's  heavy  tread 
on  the  stairs  leading  to  the  floor  above.  Having  satis- 
fied himself  that  the  place  was  deserted,  he  bolted  the 
door  and  turned  to  Dare.  All  the  lights  had  been  ex- 
tinguished save  a  shaded  jet  which  cast  a  small  circle  of 
yellow  on  a  writing  table.  The  sky-light  was  invisible, 
the  grim  walls  fading  into  nothingness  like  the  sides  of 
a  well  of  unknown  depth.  Not  a  sound  penetrated  this 
tomb,  and  the  silence  was  that  of  a  chamber  of  an  aban- 
doned mine. 

For  some  moments  no  word  was  spoken,  Dare  waiting 
for  his  companion  to  break  the  spell.  He  was  so  keenly 
sympathetic  that  he  knew  Fischer  was  controlled  by 
some  great  emotion.  He  felt  the  beating  of  his  heart 
and  shuddered  at  the  twitching  of  a  nerve.  Fischer 
arose  and  paced  nervously  back  and  forth. 

"  Do  you  know  why  I  accepted  that  check  from  Mr. 
Deane  ?  "  he  asked  abruptly. 

Dare  looked  inquiringly  at  him  but  said  nothing. 
There  was  an  expression  on  Fischer's  face  such  as  he  had 
never  seen  before. 

"  Because  it  gives  me  a  chance  to  do  the  only  thing 
I  care  to  do,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  hardly  above  a  whisper. 

"What  is  that?" 

"  To  kill  Amos  Buckingham !  " 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  CONSPIRATORS 

FISCHER  was  a  force  anarchist.  Of  his  early  history 
little  is  known  except  that  he  was  the  son  of  wealthy 
parents  who  gave  to  him  the  advantages  of  education  and 
training.  Some  claimed  that  he  came  to  the  United 
States  because  of  the  wrecking  of  the  family  fortunes, 
others  asserted  that  he  was  disinherited  because  of  his 
revolutionary  doctrines.  There  were  whispered  rumors 
— probably  without  foundation — that  Fischer  had  been 
implicated  in  the  assassination  of  a  king  or  a  czar. 

It  was  at  a  secret  conference  of  "  force  anarchists  " 
held  in  Geneva,  Switzerland,  that  Dare  met  Fischer. 
The  former  was  the  son  of  a  millionaire,  the  latter  had 
made  the  trip  from  America  as  a  steerage  passenger  and 
existed  in  actual  want,  willing  to  make  any  sacrifices 
for  the  sake  of  taking  part  in  the  deliberations  and  con- 
spiracies then  under  way. 

The  then  affluent  Dare  learned  of  this,  and  warmly 
proffered  aid  and  friendship  to  his  compatriot.  For  a 
time  the  half-starved  Fischer  proudly  refused  to  accept 
either,  but  the  whole-souled  frankness  of  the  wealthy 
young  radical  won  him  over,  and  it  was  thus  that  this 
strange  and  tragic  friendship  began. 


IS4  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

It  will  not  do  to  charge  Dare's  errors  to  that  popular 
criminal,  "  a  false  system  of  society."  Instead  of  taking 
advantage  of  marked  natural  gifts  he  sulked  and  idled 
when  his  father  failed,  and  when  fate  withheld  from 
him  that  which  he  had  not  earned. 

Only  for  an  instant  was  he  dazed  by  Fischer's  decla- 
ration. On  the  day  before  the  two  men  had  stood  over 
the  open  grave  into  which  the  wife  was  lowered  to  her 
last  resting-place,  and  late  that  night  they  had  talked  in 
the  gloom  of  the  desolated  home.  There  was  no  need  to 
renew  the  oath  taken  over  the  dead  body  of  his  son.  It 
had  a  fresh  meaning,  a  new  and  awful  significance  to 
them,  and  long  before  Fischer  spoke,  his  companion  read 
the  thought  which  tormented  his  brain. 

The  picture  of  Fischer's  wrongs  was  vivid  to  his 
mental  vision.  His  sympathy  kindled  to  a  flame,  his 
resentment  to  a  rage;  he  weighed  nothing,  measured 
nothing  and  cared  for  nothing  except  that  a  friend  called 
on  him  for  revenge.  He  leaped  to  his  feet. 

"  I'm  with  you !  "  he  cried.  "  Death  to  Buckingham ! 
To  hell  with  that  murderer  of  wives  and  children !  " 

The  two  men  looked  into  each  other's  eyes — eyes 
which  gleamed  with  frenzy  in  the  half -darkness  of  this 
huge  and  gloomy  cavern  of  a  room.  It  was  so  deathly 
still  that  they  could  hear  the  beating  of  their  hearts 
after  Dare's  wild  declaration  had  echoed  back  from  the 
skylight  dim  in  the  black  pall  over  their  heads. 

"  I  knew  you  would  help  me,"  Fischer  said.  "  Speak 
softly,  I  have  much  to  say  to  you.  In  the  first  place 


THE    CONSPIRATORS  I5S 

I  do  not  wish  you  to  take  any  risks  in  this  matter.  This 
is  my  affair,  but  you  can  help  me  in  a  way  which  will 
mean  everything  to  me." 

"  Tell  me  how,"  eagerly  said  Dare.  "  There's  noth- 
ing you  can  ask  that  I'll  not  gladly  try  to  do." 

"  Listen  to  me,"  he  began.  "  The  money  which  Deane 
gave  me  to-night  is  for  Annieta.  I  have  a  few  dollars 
besides,  but  this  makes  it  possible  for  me  to  go  ahead 
with  the  knowledge  that  she  will  not  be  penniless  if  the 
worst  happens  to  me.  If  I  get  killed  I  want  you  to 
promise  that  you  will  see  that  Annieta  is  taken  care  of. 
Will  you  do  that,  Wallace  ?  " 

"  Gladly,  and  to  the  best  of  my  ability,"  responded 
Dare.  "  But  we  are  going  about  this  in  the  wrong  way. 
You  know  how  I  am.  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  take 
care  of  myself — what  kind  of  guardian  would  I  be  for 
Annieta  ?  I  shall  never  curse  any  woman  by  asking  her 
to  be  my  wife.  Don't  interrupt  me.  Let  me  kill  Buck- 
ingham !  I  can  do  that,  and  it's  all  I'm  good  for.  It 
makes  no  difference  what  happens  to  me.  You  are  a 
natural  leader  of  men.  You  have  a  daughter,  and  it's 
your  duty  to  live  for  her.  I  have  nothing  to  live  for. 
What  do  I  amount  to  ?  Nothing !  I  can't  paint ;  I'm  lazy, 
a  drunkard  and  a  social  misfit.  Let  me  do  this ;  it  will 
be  the  one  thing  worth  while  I've  ever  done." 

Fischer  would  not  listen  to  this.  He  claimed  that  it 
was  his  "  right "  to  put  out  of  the  world  the  man  who 
had  robbed  him  of  wife  and  son.  There  was  much  wild 
talk  of  this  kind. 


i56  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

"  Don't  you  think  there's  a  way  in  which  we  can  get 
rid  of  Buckingham  without  danger  to  either  of  us,"  Dare 
suddenly  suggested.  "  You  are  worth  a  hundred  of  him, 
and  it's  not  a  fair  exchange.  If  you  shoot  him  or  throw 
a  bomb  at  him  you're  almost  sure  to  be  caught." 

"There  is  a  way,"  said  Fischer,  in  a  whisper.  "  There 
is  a  fairly  safe  way  to  kill  him,  and  you  could  help  me." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  impatiently  demanded  Dare. 

"  Listen.  Since  the  day  he  murdered  my  boy  I  have 
been  shadowing  him.  Twice  I  could  have  killed  him, 
but  the  thought  of  Annieta  held  me  back.  If  she  were 
provided  for  I  would  not  waste  time  on  figuring  out  a 
way.  It  happens  that  I  know  one  of  the  men  who  work 
about  the  Buckingham  place.  I  saw  him  coming  from 
the  back  gate  the  other  day.  I  got  him  to  talking  of 
Buckingham,  and  he  told  me  a  lot  of  things  about  his 
habits.  It  seems  that  he  spends  most  of  his  time  in  a 
small  brick  building  back  of  his  house  and  near  the 
rear  wall.  The  servants  call  it  the  laboratory,  but  they 
are  not  allowed  in  it  and  they  have  no  idea  what  he  does 
in  it." 

"  I've  heard  of  that  laboratory  of  his,"  interrupted 
Dare.  "  Some  say  that  he's  a  great  chemist,  and  that 
he's  studying  out  some  new  process  or  invention." 

"  He  spends  most  of  his  time  in  this  laboratory,  and 
here's  an  important  thing:  Just  east  of  the  stone  wall 
which  surrounds  the  place  is  a  vacant  brick  building 
three  stories  high.  Did  you  ever  notice  it  ?  " 

"  I  have,"  declared  Dare,  his  eyes  glistening  as  an 


THE    CONSPIRATORS  IS7 

inkling  of  Fischer's  plan  dawned  on  him.  "  It's  a 
tumble-down  old  place  with  the  front  boarded  up.  That 
would  be  just  the  place  to " 

"  Listen  to  me,"  insisted  Fischer.  "  When  old  man 
Buckingham  was  alive  there  was  a  grocery  store  on  the 
lower  floor  and  a  store  room  in  the  basement.  Two  fam- 
ilies lived  on  the  upper  floors.  When  this  aristocrat 
came  to  the  old  mansion  one  of  the  first  things  he  did 
was  to  buy  that  building  and  evict  the  tenants.  He 
didn't  want  them  for  neighbors,  and  the  place  has  since 
been  vacant.  It  is  only  fifty  feet  from  the  laboratory." 

"  You  could  throw  a  bomb  from  the  roof  into  the 
laboratory,  couldn't  you  ?  " 

Fischer  silently  considered  this  suggestion  for  an 
interval. 

"  I'm  afraid  that  wouldn't  do,"  he  said.  "  It  would 
be  difficult  to  throw  a  bomb  heavy  enough  to  do  the  busi- 
ness that  distance." 

"  You  could  scale  the  wall  and  throw  one  through  the 
skylight  window,"  suggested  Dare. 

"  The  best  bombs  are  uncertain,"  objected  Fischer. 
"  A  mine  is  the  thing,  and  I  have  a  plan  which  seems  to 
me  practical.  Will  you  go  with  me  right  now  and  look 
the  place  over  ?  " 

"  I  should  say  I  would !  "  exclaimed  Dare,  springing 
to  his  feet.  "  I'm  with  you  from  start  to  finish,  and 
there's  nothing  you  can  call  for  that  I'll  not  try  to  do." 

Fischer  lighted  a  candle  and  after  a  search  found  a 
hatchet  and  an  implement  used  in  shaving  ice.  He 


J58  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

wrapped  these  tools  in  paper,  turned  out  the  lights  and 
left  the  building  by  the  front. 

The  night  reeked  of  a  fog  which  drifted  in  from  the 
river,  a  fog  like  a  bank  of  steam  through  which  the 
shrouded  street  lamps  glowed  murkily.  It  was  not  more 
than  a  quarter  of  a  mile  to  the  Buckingham  residence, 
and  they  were  silent  as  they  swiftly  passed  along  the 
almost  deserted  street. 

The  house  and  grounds  stood  as  an  oasis  in  an  en- 
croaching desert  of  factories  and  squalid  tenement 
houses ;  a  fertile  island  against  which  the  waves  of  pov- 
erty ever  rolled.  The  few  wealthy  families  who  were  so 
short-sighted  as  to  follow  the  example  of  the  elder  Buck- 
ingham had  long  before  abandoned  the  neighborhood, 
and  the  old  mansion  stood  in  solitary  grandeur  amidst 
its  unkempt  surroundings. 

The  west  wall  extended  from  street  to  street,  and  a 
stranger  might  have  mistaken  the  place  for  a  convent  or 
some  public  institution.  The  walls  ran  east  on  both 
streets  a  distance  of  perhaps  two  hundred  feet,  and  con- 
nected to  form  a  rectangle  with  openings  only  to  the  west 
and  north.  The  mansion  was  set  back  thirty  feet  or  so 
from  the  northwest  corner  of  the  plot.  To  the  east  was 
the  vacant  house  which  Fischer  and  Dare  now  cautiously 
approached.  It  was  separated  from  the  wall  by  a  narrow 
passage  way,  and  its  relative  location  to  the  laboratory 
and  mansion  will  be  better  understood  by  a  reference  to 
this  diagram  taken  from  the  police  records : 


THE    CONSPIRATORS 


159 


* 


Avenue 


1 


r 


DIAGRAM  OF  BUCKINGHAM  MANSION  AND  SURROUNDINGS. 
(1)  Buckingham  Mansion.  (2)  The  mysterious  "laboratory."  (3)  Oarage  and 
Stables.  (4)  The  vacant  house.  (5)  The  front  iron  gate.  (6)  Rear  or  carriage 
gate,  (c)  Fountain,  (d, «,/,  y,  A,  k  and  m)  Lawns  and  flower  gardens.  (X )  The 
narrow  passageway  between  the  vacant  house  and  the  east  wall  of  the  Bucking- 
ham place. 

The  massive  iron  gates  of  the  rear  entrance  were 
closed,  and  no  watchman  was  on  guard.  Fischer  had 
learned  from  observation  that  these  gates  were  locked  at 
an  early  hour  except  when  Miss  Buckingham  used  a 
carriage.  The  footman  then  carried  the  key.  Fischer 
had  satisfied  himself  that  no  night  watchman  was  em- 
ployed, and  deemed  this  a  fortunate  circumstance  in  the 
desperate  and  fiendish  plot  he  had  formulated. 

The  two  men  walked  slowly  past  the  vacant  building 
and  nearly  to  the  end  of  the  block,  Fischer  whispering 
that  it  was  well  to  make  sure  that  no  patrolman  was 
near.  It  was  then  arranged  that  on  their  return  to  the 
deserted  building  Dare  should  stand  guard  near  the  en- 


160  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

trance  of  the  passageway  while  Fischer  attempted  to 
open  a  window  which  would  admit  them  into  the  base- 
ment. 

Fischer  found  this  an  easy  task.  The  window  was 
hinged,  and  it  was  a  simple  matter  to  force  the  catch 
which  held  it  in  place. .  At  a  signal  Dare  joined  him  and 
was  the  first  to  crawl  through  the  window  and  lower  him- 
self to  the  floor  of  the  basement. 

The  air  was  musty  and  foul  smelling,  and  the  two 
stood  for  a  while  near  the  opened  window  and  listened 
intently.  The  only  sound  which  came  to  their  ears  was 
the  stamping  of  horses  in  the  Buckingham  stables  less 
than  twenty  feet  away. 

"  We  must  take  the  chance  of  striking  a  light," 
Fischer  said,  producing  a  candle  from  his  pocket. 

Its  feeble  flicker  revealed  a  room  extending  from  the 
rear  walls  half  way  to  the  front.  Here  a  substantial 
partition  marked  the  limits  of  a  space  once  used  ao  r, 
Chinese  laundry.  No  door  opened  into  this  front  part 
of  the  basement,  and  Fischer's  pale  face  lighted  with  a 
smile  when  he  had  completed  a  careful  examination  of 
this  barrier. 

"  It  couldn't  be  better,"  he  whispered.  "  It  couldn't 
be  better  if  we  had  planned  it  ourselves." 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  the  puzzled  Dare. 

"  Because  that  double  partition  will  keep  all  sound 
and  light  from  the  street.  We  can  cover  these  side 
windows  with  heavy  cloth  so  as  to  keep  them  dark,  and 
then  open  the  rear  windows  or  the  cellar  door  to  let  in 


THE   CONSPIRATORS  161 

fresh  air.  When  we  have  done  that  we  can  go  ahead 
and  work  as  safe  and  sound  as  if  we  were  building  a 
church.  And  it's  less  than  fifty  feet  from  here  to  where 
he  works.  Isn't  it  fine  ?  I  tell  you  it's  great,  Wallace ; 
it's  great,  great,  great !  " 

His  voice  rose  from  a  whisper  and  he  laughed  exult- 
antly— not  the  careless  laugh  of  an  honest  man,  but 
rather  the  cachinnation  of  a  demon  who  finds  some  evil 
deed  within  his  easy  reach. 

"  Be  careful,  Gus ! "  cautioned  Wallace  Dare.  "Keep 
quiet,  man,  what  are  you  thinking  of  ? " 

"  Don't  you  worry,  my  boy,"  Fischer  returned  care- 
lessly. "  No  one  can  hear  us  on  the  outside.  Crawl  out 
and  I  will  shut  the  window  and  laugh.  You  stand  a  few 
feet  away  and  let  me  know  if  you  can  hear  me." 

They  made  this  experiment  and  it  proved  that  Fischer 
was  right.  Not  a  sound  came  through  the  thick  walls 
and  the  narrow  windows. 

"  Nothing  will  stop  us,"  Fischer  declared  when  Dare 
had  again  joined  him.  "  Let's  get  some  fresh  air  into 
this  den  from  the  south  windows,  and  then  I'll  tell  you 
what  I  propose  to  do." 

They  opened  two  windows,  and  after  some  trouble 
succeeded  in  unlocking  the  cellar  door,  and  the  inrush  of 
fresh  air  was  most  refreshing.  Fischer  predicted  that 
an  airing  of  a  day  or  two  would  make  it  a  fit  place  to 
work  in,  and  an  examination  showed  that  the  basement 
contained  nothing  more  offensive  than  a  few  crates  and 
barrels  partly  filled  with  decayed  fruits  and  vegetables. 
11 


162  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

These  were  taken  to  the  upper  floor,  the  door  of  which 
was  not  even  locked. 

Fischer  displayed  more  caution  when  on  this  floor. 
Though  the  front  windows  were  boarded  up  he  extin- 
guished the  candle  after  taking  a  swift  look  about  the 
former  grocery  store.  The  counters  and  some  of  the 
fixtures  still  remained,  and  the  floor  was  littered  with 
papers  and  boxes  and  debris  of  all  sorts.  They  soon 
learned  that  the  doors  were  unlocked  from  basement  to 
roof,  and  the  two  men  stumbled  up  in  the  dark  until 
Dare  pushed  back  the  scuttle  and  found  himself  in  the 
open  air  overlooking  the  rear  of  the  Buckingham  yard. 

Below  was  the  dark  line  of  the  wall,  its  extreme  end 
dim  in  the  fog.  Just  beyond  was  the  roof  of  the  stables, 
and  within  the  toss  of  a  pebble  was  the  squat  shape  of 
the  "  laboratory  "  with  its  tall  iron  stack  and  crusted 
top.  A  white  smoke  came  from  it  and  mingled  with  the 
mist.  Through  the  windows  which  formed  the  roof  came 
a  diffused  glow  of  light.  One  of  these  windows  was 
raised  slightly  to  admit  air,  and  as  they  peered  a  dark 
figure  moved  across  it  and  disappeared. 

"  Look !  "  exclaimed  Fischer,  fiercely  clutching  Dare 
by  the  arm.  "  Did  you  see  it  ?  There  lie  is!  The !" 

He  babbled  oaths  in  German,  leaning  far  out  over  the 
low  roof  wall.  A  loose  brick  fell  at  his  feet.  He 
grasped  it  and  would  have  hurled  it  had  not  Dare  pin- 
ioned his  arms. 

"  Are  you  crazy,  man  ? "  he  cried,  dragging  the  in- 
furiated anarchist  backward.  "  If  you  are  going  to  act 
like  this  I'll  quit  right  here !  Don't  act  like  a  fool !  " 


THE    CONSPIRATORS  163 

"  Forgive  nie,  Wallace,  I  didn't  know  what  I  was 
doing !  Let  go  of  me ;  I'm  all  right  now." 

Dare  released  him  and  took  the  brick  from  his  un- 
resisting hand. 

"  If  you  intend  to  kill  him  with  bricks  you  can  count 
me  out,"  the  artist  said  bitterly.  "  I  thought  you  had 
more  sense." 

"  I  was  crazy  for  a  minute,  but  it  will  not  happen 
again,"  Fischer  said  weakly.  "  I  never  felt  like  that 
before,  but  it's  all  over  now.  You  can  depend  on  that, 
Wallace.  Come,  let  me  tell  you  my  plan." 

They  returned  to  the  edge  of  the  roof,  and  though  the 
dark  figure  frequently  passed  back  and  forth  within 
range  of  their  vision  while  they  stood  there,  Fischer  did 
not  again  betray  the  slightest  evidence  that  he  was  aware 
of  it.  He  talked  calmly  and  rationally  as  if  the  subject 
were  one  of  commonplace  routine. 

"  That  building,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the  laboratory, 
"  has  no  basement,  and  its  cement  floor  is  about  even 
with  the  ground.  I  learned  that  from  a  man  who  saw 
it  when  it  was  building.  A  fifty-foot  tunnel  starting  in 
the  basement  below  will  land  us  squarely  in  the  centre 
of  it.  If  we  make  a  tunnel  five  feet  high  and  eighteen 
inches  wide  that  will  mean  the  removal  of — let  me 
see?" 

He  made  a  rapid  mental  calculation. 

"  There  would  be  fourteen  cubic  yards,"  he  an- 
nounced. "  To  be  on  the  safe  side  we  will  call  it  four 
yards  more,  or  eighteen  cubic  yards  at  the  highest  esti- 


164  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

mate.  We  can  easily  handle  IAVO  yards  a  day,  which  will 
place  us  beneath  that  cement  floor  in  nine  days.  The 
basement  is  large  enough  to  store  three  times  that 
amount  of  material.  All  that  we  require  is  a  few  simple 
tools,  muscle  and — at  the  proper  time — a  certain  amount 
of  dynamite;  the  world's  greatest  equalizer.  We  can 
plant  the  mine,  wait  for  some  night  when  we  know  that 
he  is  in  there;  you  can  give  the  signal  from  the  roof, 
I  will  touch  it  off  and  we  can  both  retire  by  the  rear. 
What  do  you  think  of  it,  my  boy  ?  " 

"  Not  a  thing  the  matter  with  it !  "  exclaimed  Dare. 
He  had  already  forgotten  Fischer's  wild  outburst,  and 
earnestly  pledged  his  help  and  if  necessary  his  life  to 
the  execution  of  this  desperate  undertaking.  They  re- 
turned to  the  basement,  and  after  carefully  looking  over 
the  ground  left  by  the  rear  cellar  door  which  they  locked. 

At  Fischer's  request  Dare  went  home  with  him,  and 
from  that  night  on  the  artist  slept  in  the  little  room  once 
used  by  the  boy  who  was  killed,  and  Annieta  prepared 
his  meals.  On  this  first  occasion  the  frightened  girl  was 
awaiting  her  father's  return,  and  he  gently  chided  her 
for  her  fears. 

"  Mr.  Dare  will  live  with  us  for  a  while,  my  dear,"  he 
said,  with  a  kiss  and  an  embrace  which  chased  the  tears 
from  her  beautiful  eyes.  "  We  are  doing  some  work 
which  will  keep  us  out  nearly  every  night,  and  you  must 
not  worry  even  if  we  do  not  come  home  at  all." 

"  But,  papa,  can't  you  do  this  work  in  the  daytime  ?" 

"  I'm  afraid  not,  my  pet." 


THE    CONSPIRATORS  165 

"  Why  not,  papa  ?  " 

"  Little  girls  must  not  ask  questions,"  he  smiled. 

"  I'm  not  a  little  girl,"  she  declared,  glancing  at  Dare 
and  then  lowering  her  eyes  before  his  frankly  admiring 
gaze.  Annieta  asked  no  more  questions,  and  at  her 
father's  request  prepared  a  supper  of  which  the  two  men 
partook  heartily,  and  then  retired. 

At  ten  o'clock  of  the  night  following  these  events, 
Fischer  and  Dare  unlocked  the  rear  door  of  the  base- 
ment of  the  vacant  house  adjacent  to  the  east  wall  of 
the  Buckingham  establishment.  They  carried  with  them 
picks,  shovels,  crowbars  and  other  tools  used  in  exca- 
vation work. 

Their  first  step  was  to  cover  the  windows  with  oil- 
cloth, using  a  quality  light  in  shade  but  so  heavy  in 
texture  that  the  rays  of  a  lantern  could  not  penetrate  it. 
Having  made  sure  that  this  work  was  well  done,  Fischer 
grasped  a  pick  and  raised  it  to  his  shoulder. 

"  Long  live  anarchy !  Death  to  Buckingham  and  all 
other  tyrants !  "  he  cried,  striking  the  first  blow  at  the 
base  of  the  stone  wall. 

Through  the  long  hours  of  the  night  they  toiled,  and 
ore  they  ceased  at  daybreak  Wallace  Dare  tapped  with  a 
shovel  the  concrete  which  formed  the  foundation  of  the 
stone  wall  guarding  the  mansion. 

They  were  eight  feet  nearer  their  goal;  eight  feet 
nearer  the  laboratory  in  which  the  master  of  the  Buck- 
ingham mills  consumed  the  midnight  hours  on  some 
mysterious  and  fascinating  task. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  WARNING 

ON  the  morning  following  the  meeting  of  Jake  Stark 
in  The  Well,  Deane  called  on  Long  Bill.  He  was  in 
a  fever  of  impatience  to  learn  of  his  mother,  but  had 
nerved  himself  for  the  worst.  Captain  Stark  had  eaten 
his  breakfast  and  departed  on  a  trip  down  town,  in- 
tended to  be  "  some  sight  seein'  an'  some  business." 

"  Did  you  have  a  talk  with  him  ?  "  Deane  asked,  when 
they  were  alone. 

"  I  nearly  had  a  fight  with  him,"  gloomily  replied 
Long  Bill.  "  I  led  up  to  the  thing  as  best  I  could,  but 
when  I  asked  him  who  your  mother  was,  he  turned  on 
me  and — well,  it  seemed  like  old  times  to  hear  him 
swear.  I  won't  repeat  what  he  said,  but  he  convinced 
me  that  it  was  none  of  my  business.  You'll  have  to  ask 
him  yourself." 

The  eager  look  on  Deane's  face  changed  to  misery  and 
then  to  anger. 

"  Never !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Unless  he  married  my 
mother  I  shall  not  acknowledge  him  as  my  father.  He 
did  not  marry  her!  I  know  it  now,  Bill,  and  I  wish 
never  to  see  him  again  nor  to  hear  his  name  spoken,  I 


THE    WARNING  !6; 

cannot  prevent  you  from  telling  him  what  I  confided  in 

you,  but  if " 

"  You  needn't  worry  about  that,"  interrupted  Long 
Bill.  "  I've  learned  my  lesson.  From  this  on  I  tend 
strictly  to  my  own  business.  Captain  Jake  will  never 
hear  a  word  from  me.  But  I  will  say  one  thing.  The 
fact  that  he  wouldn't  talk  to  me  doesn't  prove  that  he 
never  married.  I  found  out  one  thing  that  you  might 
like  to  know.  It  don't  amount  to  much,  but  it  may  help 

you." 

"What's  that?" 

"  When  he  was  of  an  age  to  be  your  father  he  made 
his  headquarters  in  ISTantucket.  He  sailed  on  his  first 
long  cruise  from  there,  and  if  he  married  it's  likely  that 
he  married  from  there." 

Deane  grasped  at  this  straw.  He  questioned  Long 
Bill  closely,  but  that  was  all  he  had  learned  from  Jake 
Stark.  He  hurried  to  his  office,  put  his  affairs  in  shape 
and  took  a  train  for  Naatuokat  He  spent  three  days 
there,  but  at  the  end  of  each  of  them  his  hopes  sank 
lower.  The  books  in  the  old  court-house- contained  no 
record  of  the  marriage  of  Jacob  Stark,  or  of  anyone  of 
that  family  name.  He  found  several  old  residents  who 
remembered  that  such  a  sailor  once  lived  there,  but  they 
were  sure  that  he  was  not  married. 

Disheartened  and  disgusted  with  himself  and  all  the 
world  he  returned  to  New  York.  He  sent  a  message  to 
Long  Bill  asking  him  to  come  to  his  apartments. 

"  I'm  going  to  take  a  last  chance,  Long  Bill,"  he  said. 


!68  THE   BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

"  I  wish  you  to  tell  my  father  that  I,  Stanley  Deane, 
may  know  something  about  the  lost  Mascot.  Say  to  him 
that  I  lived  in  England  for  years,  that  you  have  told  me 
of  Mascot,  and  that  I  think  I  know  something  of  him. 
I  will  then  be  able  to  question  him  as  a  lawyer." 

"  Captain  Jake  has  gone  away." 

"  Abroad  ?  Has  he  gone  to  England  searching  for 
me?" 

"  Hard  a  lee,  my  lad ;  you're  several  points  off  your 
course,"  smiled  the  sailor.  "  The  day  after  Jake  got 
here  he  studied  a  city  directory  for  hours,  and  then 
sat  and  smoked  and  whistled  softly.  Then  he  spent  a 
long  time  writing  something.  He  showed  it  to  me,  and 
after  I  corrected  it,  it  read  like  this :  "  and  he  handed 
Deane  a  clipping  containing  the  following  advertise- 
ment: 

PERSONAL. — If  Captain  John  C.  Marsh,  who  once  owned  a 
plantation  near  Port  Antonio,  Jamaica,  will  place  himself  in 
communication  with  the  undersigned,  he  will  learn  something  to 
his  advantage. 

CAPTAIN  JACOB  STARK. 

Deane  read  this  several  times  and  then  looked  inquir- 
ingly at  the  sailor. 

"  Captain  Jake  put  this  in  New  York  papers,  and  sent 
it  to  papers  in  Boston,  Providence  and  other  places,"  ex- 
plained Long  Bill.  "  He  chuckled  and  said  there  would 
be  things  doing  when  he  got  hold  of  this  Captain  John 
C.  Marsh,  but  when  I  asked  who  he  was,  Jake  closed  his 
mouth  and  never  batted  an  eye." 


THE    WARNING  !69 

"  Probably  some  sea  captain  with  whom  he  had  busi- 
ness relations,"  mused  Deane. 

"  Let  me  tell  you  what  happened.  Jake  went  down 
town  yesterday,  and  when  he  came  back  he  was  all  ex- 
cited. He  had  a  letter  saying  that  this  Captain  Marsh 
was  in  Boston,  and  then  he  was  the  happiest  and  busiest 
man  you  ever  saw.  He  packed  a  grip  and  took  the  night 
boat  for  Boston,  and  I  suppose  he's  there  now.  He  said 
he  wouldn't  be  gone  more  than  a  week." 

"  Let  me  know  when  you  hear  from  him,  and  I'll  drop 
into  your  place  and  see  you,"  Deane  said,  wearily. 
"  This  trip  of  his  has  nothing  to  do  with  me." 

"  You  never  can  tell." 

Deane's  absence  on  his  trip  to  Nantucket  puzzled 
Detective  Jacoby.  He  feared  that  this  mysterious  dis- 
appearance had  a  sinister  meaning,  and  not  until  Jacoby 
had  exhausted  every  expedient  did  he  admit  that  he  had 
lost  the  trail.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  wait  for  the 
young  reformer  to  reappear.  He  therefore  devoted  his 
time  to  other  clients. 

In  the  meantime  Fischer  and  Dare  were  human  moles 
burrowing  far  beneath  the  turf  which  separated  the  stone 
wall  from  the  mysterious  laboratory.  Had  their  goal 
been  a  treasure  of  gold  they  would  not  have  toiled 
harder. 

Fischer's  intimate  knowledge  of  mechanical  and  en- 
gineering problems  reduced  this  task  to  one  of  physical 
effort.  Two  common  laborers  would  have  thought  noth- 


1 70  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

ing  of  it,  but  the  one  was  a  draftsman  and  the  other  an 
artist,  and  it  was  not  easy  to  crouch  in  a  dark  and  stifling 
tunnel  and  handle  a  thirty-pound  crowbar. 

The  first  night  was  not  so  bad,  but  at  the  end  of  the 
second  their  backs  were  lame,  their  elbows  and  knees 
bruised,  and  every  cord  and  muscle  ached  from  the  exer- 
tion demanded.  Fischer  was  the  more  rugged  of  the 
two,  but  Dare  held  up  his  end  by  pure  grit  and  will 
power.  Not  until  Fischer  perceived  that  the  artist  was 
becoming  exhausted  did  he  compel  him  to  work  at  a 
slower  pace. 

They  lacked  means  to  force  air  into  the  bore,  and  the 
odor  of  the  tallow  candles  added  to  the  exhalations  from 
their  lungs  made  this  a  veritable  chamber  of  horrors  to 
the  one  who  remained  in  it  for  any  length  of  time.  The 
harder  task  was  the  loosening  of  the  soil  and  shovelling 
it  into  buckets,  and  the  easier  was  the  carrying  of  these 
buckets  from  the  head  of  the  tunnel  to  the  basement. 

The  first  two  nights  they  began  work  at  nine  o'clock, 
but  it  occurred  to  Fischer  that  their  absence  from  The 
Well  would  be  commented  on,  and  more  than  that,  he 
had  committee  work  and  other  duties  connected  with  the 
strike  which  demanded  his  time  up  to  later  hours  on 
certain  nights  of  the  week.  They  therefore  decided  to 
begin  work  at  midnight,  and  to  keep  at  it  until  five  or 
six  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

"  We  can  take  a  month  at  it  if  necessary,"  urged 
Fischer,  "  but  at  the  rate  we  are  going  we'll  be  under 
that  Jiut  in  a  week  froni  the  time  we  smarted,  and  he 


THE    WARNING  i?i 

will  be  there  when  we  are  ready  for  him.  He  works 
there  every  night  as  regular  as  if  his  living  depended  on 
it." 

"  The  sooner  we  get  this  job  finished  the  better,"  in- 
sisted Dare,  cautious  for  once  in  his  life.  "  You  never 
can  tell  when  an  inspector  or  someone  may  stumble  in 
on  us.  It  would  be  hard  to  invent  a  good  excuse  for  this 
enterprise.  Let's  whoop  her  up  and  be  through  with  it." 

Dare's  face  grew  pale  and  drawn  as  the  work  pro- 
gressed, but  on  the  fifth  night  he  set  a  pace  which 
Fischer  found  it  difficult  to  follow. 

At  three  o'clock  it  became  Dare's  turn  to  "  go  to  the 
front,"  as  he  laughingly  had  termed  it,  and  it  happened 
that  after  a  few  strokes  of  the  pick  he  came  to  a  friable 
and  easily  handled  formation  of  soil.  He  went  at  it 
with  much  gusto.  As  a  rule  Fischer  had  been  compelled 
to  wait  for  the  bucket  to  be  filled,  but  now  the  situation 
was  reversed.  Dare  chaffed  him. 

"  Come  a-running !  "  he  exclaimed,  tapping  with  his 
shovel  the  filled  bucket.  "  Get  a  move  on ;  what's  the 
matter  with  you  ?  " 

"  I'll  keep  you  busy,"  retorted  the  other,  and  then 
began  a  contest  to  see  who  would  falter. 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  as  Fischer  wormed  his  way  back 
into  the  tunnel  he  noted  that  it  was  dark.  This  was  no 
uncommon  thing,  the  falling  gravel  or  some  clumsy 
movement  frequently  tipping  and  extinguishing  the 
candles.  But  Fischer  heard  no  sound.  He  was  horrified 
at  the  thought  that  the  roof  of  the  tunnel  had  caved  and 


I72  THE   BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

buried  Dare,  at  whose  demand  the  precaution  of  putting 
the  shoring  in  place  had  been  neglected  longer  than 
usual. 

"  Wallace !  Wallace !  "  he  called,  pausing  an  instant 
for  a  reply.  The  silence  of  the  black  hole  was  that  of 
death. 

With  a  choking  fear  at  his  heart  Fischer  struck  a 
match  and  pressed  forward.  Ten  feet  further  on  he 
came  to  the  prostrate  figure  of  his  friend.  Without  wait- 
ing to  see  if  he  were  alive  or  dead  he  grasped  him  by  the 
shoulders  and  dragged  him  through  the  tunnel  to  the 
basement.  A  look  at  his  face  as  the  light  struck  it,  told 
him  that  Dare  had  only  fainted,  and  he  was  about  to 
throw  water  on  him  when  the  artist  opened  his  eyes  and 
gazed  wildly  around. 

"  What's  the  matter «  "  he  gasped. 

"  You  fainted  away.  Don't  get  excited,  you'll  be  all 
right  in  a  minute  or  two." 

"  I'm  all  right  now !  "  he  declared,  springing  to  his 
feet  and  reeling  until  Fischer  caught  him  and  forced 
him  to  take  a  seat  near  the  cellar  door  where  he  could 
drink  in  the  fresh  morning  air. 

"  You'll  do  no  more  to-night  nor  to-morrow  night," 
firmly  ordered  Fischer.  "  That  goes,  and  no  nonsense 
about  it !  I  should  have  known  better  than  to  have  let 
you  work  at  such  a  pace." 

"  I'm  ashamed  of  myself  to  have " 

"  Not  another  word,"  insisted  the  other.  "  You  sit 
right  here  while  I  shore  tip  those  few  feet,  and  then 


THE    WARNING  i;3 

we'll  go  home  and  take  a  good  sleep.  We  are  within 
three  yards  of  the  laboratory,  and  from  this  on  it  will  be 
easy  work.  To-morrow  night  we'll  go  to  The  Well  and 
have  a  good  time.  We  are  entitled  to  one  day's  vaca- 
tion." 

Dare  reluctantly  consented,  and  when  Fischer  had 
put  the  tunnel  in  safe  condition  he  locked  up  the  place 
and  hastened  home  with  his  friend.  This  was  on  Monday 
morning  and  they  slept  twelve  hours,  awaking  much 
refreshed.  Annieta  was  delighted  when  her  father  told 
her  that  they  would  be  home  at  a  comparatively  early 
hour. 

"  How  much  longer  are  you  going  to  work  nights, 
papa  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Not  long,  my  pet,"  he  replied.  "  Only  two  or  three 
more  nights,  and  the  strike  will  be  won  by  that  time,  I 
hope." 

"  So  do  I,  papa,  dear !  "  she  exclaimed,  kissing  him 
good-bye. 

Had  Jacoby  been  encouraged  to  follow  the  promptings 
of  his  judgment  it  is  not  likely  that  Fischer  and  Dare 
would  have  proceeded  far  with  their  desperate  plot,  but 
the  strike  had  been  conducted  in  such  an  orderly  manner 
that  he  had  no  valid  reason  to  suspect  Fischer  or  any 
other  of  the  former  employes.  He  had  been  told  to 
shadow  Deane,  and  he  picked  up  the  trail  the  day  that 
unsuspecting  gentleman  returned  from  his  fruitless  trip 
to  Nantucket. 


i74  THE  BOTTOM   OF    THE    WELL 

Jacoby  waited  outside  while  Long  Bill  was  conferring 
with  Deane,  but  he  could  think  of  no  way  of  ascertaining 
the  purport  of  this  meeting.  He  watched  his  suspect  all 
the  next  day,  but  he  might  as  well  have  devoted  his  time 
to  spying  on  the  mayor  of  the  city. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  he  received  word  that  Mr.  Buck- 
ingham wished  to  see  him,  and  he  called  at  the  mansion 
that  evening. 

"  What  have  you  learned  ?  "  the  millionaire  asked 
abruptly. 

"  Deane  is  going  to  address  the  strikers  next  Thurs- 
day evening  at " 

"  I  read  the  papers,"  interrupted  Buckingham.  "  Is 
that  where  you  get  your  information  from  ?  " 

"  Deane  has  given  five  thousand  dollars  to  the  strikers' 
relief  committee,"  added  the  abashed  detective,  hoping 
that  this  not  exclusive  fact  had  failed  to  reach  the  ears 
of  his  employer.  Evidently  it  had. 

"  That's  not  a  crime  on  his  part,"  frowned  Bucking- 
ham. "  It  only  proves  that  he  is  an  ass  with  more 
money  than  sense.  What  else  ?  " 

"  He  also  gave  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  to 
Fischer,  the  secretary  of  the  union,"  confidently  an- 
nounced Jacoby,  sure  of  his  ownership  of  this  bit  of  in- 
formation. 

"What  of  it?"  The  name  annoyed  him.  "Why  did 
he  give  it  to  him  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  learned  yet." 

The  detective  then  told  how  he  had  slipped  into  The 


THE   WARNING  17S 

Well  one  evening  when  guests  were  admitted,  taking 
the  chance  that  he  would  not  be  singled  out.  He  de- 
scribed the  place  in  detail,  told  of  seeing  Deane  there, 
and  gave  a  list  of  most  of  the  members.  Buckingham ' 
was  much  interested  in  this  and  cross-examined  Jacoby 
for  some  time. 

"  Is  Deane  a  member  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,  and  he  was  never  there  until  after  the  strike 
began,"  said  Jacoby.  "  I  don't  understand  why  he  goes 
there  so  much." 

"  "We  will  learn  sooner  or  later.  Now  we  will  take  up 
another  matter." 

He  opened  the  door  to  a  massive  safe  which  stood  at 
the  side  of  his  desk.  From  the  inner  drawer  he  took  out 
a  small  slip  of  paper,  studied  it  with  a  sneer  on  his 
bearded  lips,  and  handed  it  to  Jacoby. 

"  Tell  me  what  you  think  of  that,"  he  demanded. 
Here  is  a  facsimile  of  what  appeared  on  this  slip  of 
paper : 


To   AMOS    BUCKINGHAM 

You  have  been  SENTENCED  to 
DEATH  by 

The  COMMITTEE. 


The  words  and  letters  had  been  cut  from  printed 
matter — evidently  daily  newspapers — and  had  been 
carefully  pasted  in  the  above  form  on  a  sheet  of  common 


I76  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

note  paper  which  had  no  water-mark  or  other  distin- 
guishing feature.  The  letters  and  words  were  of  differ- 
ent sizes  or  "  fonts  " — as  printers  designate  them — 
conclusive  proof  that  they  had  been  clipped  from  more 
than  one  publication.  The  words  "  To,"  "  You," 
"  have,"  "  been,"  "  by  "  and  "  The  "  are  so  common  that 
it  was  an  easy  matter  to  find  them,  but  the  others  were 
made  up  of  capital  letters,  evidently  clipped  from  head- 
lines or  advertisements. 

Buckingham  also  handed  the  detective  the  envelope 
which  had  contained  this  sheet  of  paper.  It  was  a  plain 
one,  and  on  it  were  Mr.  Buckingham's  name  and  resi- 
dence address  in  capital  letters,  which  had  been  clipped 
and  pasted  with  even  more  care  than  that  used  in  pre- 
paring the  letter. 

The  postmark  was  distinct,  and  read :  "  Wall  Street 
Sta.  K  Y.  June  29,  9.30  A.  M." 

As  Jacoby  studied  the  paper  and  envelope  his  expres- 
sion changed  from  bewilderment  to  admiration.  Buck- 
ingham leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  watched  him  from 
beneath  the  shield  which  ever  guarded  his  eyes.  He  said 
nothing  and  made  no  sign  until  the  detective  had  com- 
pleted his  inspection. 

"  That  is  a  clever  piece  of  work  and  a  new  one  on  me, 
Mr.  Buckingham,"  he  said.  "  It  is  possible  to  identify 
and  trace  disguised  hand-writing,  and  it's  easy  to  dis- 
cover where  a  job  of  printing  has  been  done,  but  this 
isn't  hand- writing  or  printing.  As  you  can  see  it's  been 
cut  from  papers.  The  '  To '  looks  as  if  it  came  from 


THE    WARNING  I77 

the  '  Herald/  and  the  '  You '  is  the  type  used  on  the 
'  Sun/  and  I  suppose  I  could  study  it  out  and  tell  just 
where  the  other  words  and  letters  came  from,  but  what 
good  would  that  do  ?  " 

Buckingham  made  no  comment  and  the  detective  con- 
tinued. 

"  There  are  tons  of  paper  like  that,  and  you  can  buy 
the  envelope  in  any  one  of  a  thousand  drug-stores.  We 
know  that  the  letter  was  mailed  in  the  Wall  Street  dis- 
trict, but  it  may  have  been  prepared  up  in  Harlem. 
Some  of  these  great  detectives  in  fiction  might  be  able  to 
find  the  papers  from  which  this  stuff  was  cut,  and  then 
find  out  just  who  bought  them,  but  I  can't  do  it,  and  I 
might  just  as  well  tell  you  so  right  now  so  that  you'll  not 
be  disappointed.  If  you  ever  find  who  did  this  job  it 
will  not  be  through  this  paper  and  envelope." 

"  You  have  more  sense  than  I  thought,"  dryly  ob- 
served Buckingham,  and  the  detective's  mustache  lifted 
at  the  corners  as  he  smiled  at  the  doubtful  compliment. 
"  Who  would  be  likely  to  send  me  such  a  threat  ?  " 

"  Some  of  the  strikers,"  declared  Jacoby.  "  I  told 
you  a  week  or  more  ago  that  they  'are  very  bitter  against 
you.  Some  of  them  are  anarchists;  that  man  Fischer, 
for  instance." 

"  Anarchists !  "  growled  Mr.  Buckingham.  "  Cur 
anarchists,  perhaps,  but  none  of  them  with  the  brains  to 
do  a  thing  like  this.  Do  not  think  that  this  alarms  me 
in  the  least.  I  am  not  in  the  slightest  danger  of  being 
killed.  This  is  a  shrewd  attempt  to  intimidate  me  into 
18 


178  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

making  concessions  to  the  strikers.  It  was  the  work  of 
a  man  with  brains  in  his  head ;  a  man  who  knows  how 
to  do  a  criminal  act  without  the  risk  of  being  detected ; 
a  man  who  imagines  he  is  doing  these  fool  workers  a 
favor  by  interceding  in  their  behalf.  I  do  not  say  that 
Deane  did  this  thing,  but  I  do  say  that  it  was  done  by 
someone  of  his  stripe." 

Buckingham  had  dropped  his  dictatorial  manner  and 
Jacoby  knew  that  he  was  more  alarmed  and  mystified 
than  he  was  willing  to  admit.  This  emboldened  the 
detective  to  take  issue  with  him. 

"  The  majority  of  your  men  are  cowards  and  fools, 
I  will  admit,"  he  said,  "  but  you  should  understand,  Mr. 
Buckingham,  that  at  the  present  time  all  kinds  of  men 
work  in  factories.  Some  are  college  graduates,  some 
were  big  men  before  they  came  to  this  country,  and 
others  are  so  desperate  that  they  will  do  anything.  The 
man  who  has  been  up  in  the  world  and  who  falls  is  a 
dangerous  man,  and  some  of  that  kind  worked  for  you. 
This  may  be  all  a  bluff,  but  there's  one  thing  about  it  I 
don't  like." 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  Buckingham  asked,  impatiently. 

"  Your  real  anarchist  always  gives  warning  before  he 
strikes,"  replied  Jacoby.  "  He  is  like  a  rattlesnake,  but 
he  gives  only  one  warning.  I  don't  know  why  they  do 
this,  only  that  it  is  a  part  of  their  code  to  tell  the  man 
they  have  marked.  Perhaps  they  wish  to  give  him  some 
sort  of  a  chance,  and  then  again  perhaps  they  think  it 
will  make  him  suffer  more." 


THE    WARNING  1?9 

"  Stuff  and  nonsense !  "  exclaimed  the  millionaire, 
jabbing  the  steel  paper  cutter  into  his  desk.  "  That 
canaille  make  me  suffer  ?  Not  for  one  minute  of  sleep ! 
Listen  to  me,  Jacoby.  It  is  one  thing  to  hunt  the  tiger ; 
it  is  another  thing  to  have  the  tiger  hunt  you.  I  am 
going  to  do  some  detective  work  on  my  own  account  I 
propose  to  give  these  dogs  the  treatment  they  deserve. 
Go  ahead  with  your  part  of  the  work  in  your  own  way, 
but  do  not  come  to  this  house  until  I  send  for  you.  After 
Monday  I  shall  not  be  here  for  several  days." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  are  going  among  these 
men  yourself  ? "  asked  the  astounded  detective. 

"  I  do.  Why  not  ?  "  demanded  the  millionaire.  "  Do 
you  imagine  that  it  takes  superhuman  genius  to  be  a 
detective  ?  None  of  these  men  know  me  by  sight,  and  if 
you  identify  me  the  next  time  you  see  me  I'll  give  you 
one  hundred  dollars." 

Buckingham  was  in  his  usual  place,  back  of  the  reflec- 
tion of  the  student's  lamp,  his  eyes  covered  by  the  shade 
he  always  wore  when  visitors  were  admitted  to  his  pres- 
ence. Jacoby  had  never  had  a  full  view  of  his  face,  had 
never  looked  into  his  eyes,  yet  he  was  confident  that  he 
could  penetrate  any  disguise  the  millionaire  might 
assume. 

The  detective  was  too  tactful  to  attempt  to  dissuade 
his  erratic  employer  from  this  purpose,  and  after  receiv- 
ing instructions  from  Mr.  Buckingham  to  submit  his 
reports  in  writing  to  Peters,  took  his  leave. 

Monday  morning  Amos  Buckingham  held  a  long  con- 


i8o  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

ference  with  his  private  secretary.  He  then  sent  for 
Alice  and  told  her  that  he  had  been  called  away  for  a 
period.  Since  it  often  happened  that  she  did  not  see 
her  father  for  days  at  a  time  she  was  not  distressed  over 
this  announcement. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

HEBE  JOHANN  SCHLIEBMACKEB 

ME.  JACOBY  contracted  a  severe  cold  on  the  Sunday 
following  his  interview  with  Buckingham,  and  his 
physician  ordered  him  to  remain  in  his  room  for  several 
days.  This  retired  him  from  activity  at  a  time  when  his 
work  might  have  counted  for  much  in  averting  an  im- 
pending tragedy. 

He  doubted  if  the  strangely  prepared  warning  had 
more  significance  than  other  threats  sent  by  cranks  and 
cowards  to  men  of  wealth  or  position,  and  he  was  confi- 
dent that  Deane  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  He  was 
amused  that  the  master  of  the  mills  should  attempt  to 
play  the  part  of  a  detective,  but  he  was  inured  to  the 
whims  of  !New  York  millionaires.  He  had  never  worked 
on  a  more  prosaic  case,  but  the  pay  was  satisfactory  and 
he  made  no  complaint. 

Fischer  and  Dare  arrived  at  Long  Bill's  place  early 
Monday  evening,  and  were  about  to  enter  The  Well 
when  the  sailor  called  Fischer  aside. 

"  There's  a  man  over  there,"  he  said,  indicating  a 
table,  "  who  has  been  waiting  for  you  for  an  hour  or 
more.  He's  a  German  with  some  such  name  as  Shim- 
merman  or  Shimmaker,  or  something  like  that,  and  all 


!82  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

that  I  can  get  out  of  him  is  that  he  wants  to  see  you  and 
nobody  else.  I'll  take  you  over  to  him." 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  cautioned  Fischer.  He  stood 
where  he  could  study  the  stranger,  and  looked  at  him 
for  fully  a  minute  while  Dare  and  Long  Bill  discreetly 
walked  to  another  part  of  the  room.  Having  finished 
his  scrutiny  Fischer  motioned  to  Long  Bill. 

"  I  don't  know  him,"  he  said,  "  and  I  don't  like  his 
looks,  but  I'm  not  afraid  to  meet  him." 

"  Why  should  you  be  ?  "  asked  Long  Bill,  leading  the 
way  to  the  unknown  guest. 

"  This  is  Mr.  Fischer,"  he  said,  when  the  two  stood 
at  the  table.  "  I  didn't  get  your  name  right,  and  I  never 
was  over-strong  on  German  names,  but  here's  the  man 
you've  been  waiting  for,  and  I  reckon  he  can  talk  your 
language  better  than  I  can  my  own." 

The  stranger  rose  and  bowed  to  Long  Bill  and  to 
Fischer.  He  was  fully  as  tall  as  the  sailor,  and  that 
gentleman  stood  six  feet  and  two  inches.  When  he  ad- 
dressed the  strike  leader  in  German,  Long  Bill  knew 
that  he  was  no  longer  wanted  and  turned  away. 

"  I  am  glad  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Fischer,"  he  said,  mo- 
tioning him  to  a  seat.  "  My  name  is  Johann  Schlier- 
macker  of  Berlin,  and  if  what  little  of  fame  I  have  has 
reached  you,  you  will  understand  why  I  call  on  you  in 
this  informal  way." 

"  Johann  Schliermacker  ?  "  exclaimed  Fischer,  a  flush 
of  pride  and  pleasure  on  his  clear-cut  features.  "  Herr 
Johann  Schliermacker,  editor  of  the  *  Freiheit '  ?  " 


HERR    JOHANN  SCHLIERMACKER  183 

"  The  same,  my  dear  Mr.  Fischer,  and  I  am  nattered 
that  my  humble  literary  and  journalistic  efforts  have 
given  me  a  place  in  your  ken.  I  greet  you,  comrade !  " 

They  clasped  hands  with  a  grip  which  meant  to  one 
of  them  more  than  the  formality  of  meeting  or  of  friend- 
ship. If  Fischer  had  any  lingering  suspicion  of  the 
man  who  looked  into  his  eyes,  that  suspicion  vanished  at 
the  close  of  the  following  colloquy,  in  which  Fischer 
asked  the  questions  and  Schliermacker  made  the  re- 
sponses : 

"  What  do  you  say  to  me  ?  " 

"  Allis not  well!" 

"  What  do  I  say  to  you  2  " 

"All  might  be  well!" 

"  What  do  we  say  to  humanity  ?  " 

«  ALL  SHALL  BE  WELL !  " 

Schliermacker  explained  to  Fischer  that  his  visit  to 
the  United  States  had  no  special  object  He  needed  a 
rest,  and  he  also  wished  to  meet  the  leading  anarchists 
and  radical  reformers  in  New  York  and  other  large 
centres. 

"  Who  was  so  kind  as  to  refer  you  to  me  ?  "  asked 
Fischer.  "My  place  in  the  movement  is  an  obscure 
one." 

"  There  is  no  rank  in  our  movement,  but  you  are  far 
too  modest,  my  dear  Fischer,"  replied  Schliermacker, 
with  a  patronizing  smile.  "  I  was  asked  to  call  on  you 
by  no  less  a  personage  than  the  Count  Rakoczy.  He  met 


!84  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

you  in  the  Geneva  conference  of  five  years  ago,  and 
spoke  most  highly  of  your  ability  and  services." 

"  It  was  generous  of  him  to  say  so !  "  exclaimed 
Fischer,  his  eyes  gleaming  with  pleasure.  "  The  Count 
Rakoczy  is  a  wonderful  man." 

"  He  is  indeed,"  agreed  Schliermacker,  "  the  most 
brilliant  strategist  in  our  cause.  I  should  have  been 
at  that  Geneva  conference  and  have  had  the  pleasure  of 
meeting  you,  were  it  not  that  at  that  particular  time  I 
was  in  jail  charged  with  the  crime  of  lese-majesty.  In 
fact,  I  have  just  finished  another  short  term,  and  I  hope 
that  this  visit  to  your  country  will  give  me  new  health 
and  vigor." 

Herr  Schliermacker's  hair  was  so  short  and  bristly 
that  it  suggested  the  suspicion  that  he  had  recently  been 
in  prison,  but  in  other  respects  he  was  a  man  of  dis- 
tinguished appearance.  The  smooth-shaven  face  was 
that  of  one  whom  nothing  could  daunt.  The  dark  and 
steady  eyes,  the  strong  nose  and  massive  jaw  bespoke 
one  who  scorned  to  yield  to  authority  or  bow  to  conven- 
tions. His  frame  was  powerful,  his  hands  large  but 
shapely,  and  his  voice  a  gruff  but  not  unmusical  bass 
which  compelled  attention  when  he  spoke. 

The  removal  of  his  mustache  and  beard,  the  cropping 
of  his  rather  long  hair,  the  wearing  of  a  pair  of  spec- 
tacles and  the  speaking  of  German  with  a  smattering  of 
English  was  the  disguise  assumed  by  Amos  Bucking- 
ham. When  he  had  completed  it,  Peters,  his  private 
secretary  for  years,  did  not  know  him.  There  are  those 


HERR    JOH4NN  SCHLIERMACKER  185 

whose  features  are  completely  masked  by  a  beard,  and 
Buckingham  was  one  of  them.  Moreover  he  was  ventur- 
ing among  those  who  had  had  no  opportunity  to  become 
familiar  with  his  personal  appearance  and  traits.  He 
was  almost  as  much  of  a  stranger  as  the  man  he  imper- 
sonated. 

Thus  the  man  who  was  marked  for  assassination  and 
the  anarchist  who  longed  for  his  life,  met  and  talked  and 
lied ;  each  blind  as  to  the  motive  of  the  other. 

"  Possibly  you  can  help  me  in  a  certain  matter/' 
Schliermacker  said,  after  Fischer  had  told  him  some- 
thing of  the  Buckingham  strike,  a  matter  in  which  the 
Berlin  agitator  seemed  to  take  only  a  polite  interest 
"  I  do  not  wish  to  stay  in  one  of  your  great  hotels.  We 
have  plenty  of  them  in  our  country.  I  am  here  to  study 
your  working  people,  those  whom  your  masters  call '  the 
lower  classes.'  Therefore  I  wish  to  live  near  them.  How 
shall  I  go  about  it?" 

"  You  are  in  such  a  district  now,"  returned  Fischer. 
"  Why  not  take  quarters  in  this  building  ?  I  think  the 
proprietor  has  some  vacant  rooms  on  the  third  floor. 
Shall  I  ask  him?" 

"  By  all  means,"  insisted  Schliermacker,  with  more 
interest  than  he  had  before  evinced.  "  Nothing  could 
suit  me  better." 

Fischer  called  Long  Bill,  who  said  he  had  a  small 
room  which  might  suit  Mr.  Schliermacker.  The  latter 
took  a  look  at  it  and  declared  that  it  was  just  what  he 
wanted.  He  explained  that  he  had  left  his  luggage 


186  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

temporarily  in  a  down-town  hotel,  but  Fischer  took  the 
checks,  found  an  expressman,  and  an  hour  later  the  dis- 
tinguished visitor  from  Berlin  was  comfortably  located 
in  the  room  directly  above  that  occupied  by  the  absent 
Captain  Jake  Stark. 

Having  thus  happily  disposed  of  these  details,  Fischer 
conducted  his  newly  found  comrade  into  The  Well. 
The  hour  was  yet  early,  and  only  Dare,  Saxon  and 
"  Dummy  Malakoff  "  were  present.  After  presenting 
Schliermacker,  his  host  pointed  out  the  relics  which 
adorned  the  walls,  explained  the  uses  of  the  "  old  oaken 
bucket,"  narrated  the  history  of  the  club  and  answered 
numerous  questions.  The  alleged  German  editor  was 
delighted. 

"  What  a  place  for  a  conclave  of  the  comrades !  "  he 
exclaimed,  tapping  the  walls  with  a  huge  cane  which  he 
carried.  "  No  chance  for  a  spy  to  listen  through  these 
ramparts.  Are  the  men  I  have  just  met  anarchists  ?" 

"  Not  all  of  them,"  Fischer  said  in  a  low  tone,  and  as 
he  did  the  door  opened  and  Deane  entered. 

Dare  greeted  Deane  heartily,  but  the  latter  was  look- 
ing for  Long  Bill,  from  whom  he  had  received  word  that 
he  had  news  from  Jake  Stark  which  might  be  of  im- 
portance. The  sailor  was  not  in  the  room,  and  Deane 
was  about  to  leave  when  Fischer  spoke  to  him. 

"Deane, letme  introduce  Herr  Johann  Schliermacker, 
editor  of  the  '  Freiheit,'  of  Berlin,"  he  said  in  German, 
knowing  that  Deane  was  master  of  that  language.  "  Mr. 


HERR    JOHANN  SCHLIERMACKER  187 

Deane  is  one  of  our  famous  reformers,"  he  said,  turning 
to  Schliermacker. 

During  this  introduction,  Schliermacker  had  intently 
studied  Deane.  He  had  met  the  man  he  was  looking 
for,  and  his  lips  lifted  slightly  in  an  ironical  curve.  He 
extended  his  hand. 

"  I  am  pleased  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Deane,"  he  said.  "  I 
have  no  doubt  you  are  a  good  anarchist." 

"  I  am  not  an  anarchist  of  any  kind,  Herr  Schlier- 
macker," he  declared  curtly.  "  I  have  not  the  slightest 
sympathy  with  anarchy  in  any  form,  theoretical  or  prac- 
tical. I  am  so  little  an  anarchist  that  I  am  often  accused 
of  socialism." 

"  Indeed  ?  And  I  presume  you  resent  that  ?  "  Schlier- 
macker questioned,  thrusting  his  jaw  out  and  watching 
him  closely  over  the  rim  of  his  spectacles. 

"  I  do  not,"  responded  Deane.  "  Every  man  who  is 
not  an  anarchist  is  more  or  less  of  a  socialist.  He  is  a 
socialist  just  in  proportion  as  he  believes  in  the  possi- 
bilities of  democracy.  Since  I  have  faith  in  the  wisdom 
of  the  majority,  and  in  its  ultimate  triumph  over  selfish 
individualism  or  anarchy,  it  follows  that  I  am  theoret- 
ically a  socialist.  I  believe  that  the  individual  must  at 
times  subordinate  his  interests  to  those  of  the  State,  also 
that  all  economic  and  industrial  questions  can  be  solved 
by  the  enactment  and  enforcement  of  wise  laws.  That 
is  socialism." 

"  Ho,  ho !  "  laughed  Saxon,  whose  Heidelberg  train- 
ing and  command  of  German  enabled  him  to  take  part 


i88  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

in  this  debate.  "  At  last  our  friend  Deane  declares  him- 
self. He  gives  a  good  definition  of  socialism.  Fall  on 
him,  Herr  Schliermacker !  " 

"  It  is  a  waste  of  time  to  argue  with  one  who  holds 
that  laws  can  bring  happiness,  or  that  liberty  can  be 
won  or  held  by  votes,"  was  Schliermacker's  oracular 
declaration.  "  Government  is  tyranny,  and  history 
proves  that  tyrants  and  tyrannies  fall  only  when  force 
is  directed  against  them." 

"  All  the  progressive  revolutions  in  history  have  been 
for  the  downfall  of  despotic  anarchy  and  for  the  substi- 
tution of  better  government  along  socialistic  lines," 
responded  Deane.  "  The  American  revolutionists 
sternly  resisted  that  royal  anarchy  which  denied  them 
the  right  to  govern  themselves.  The  masses  of  Russia 
are  moving  to  overthrow  autocratic  anarchy,  and  to  sub- 
stitute co-operative  effort  and  popular  rule — socialism — 
for  the  anarchic  dictum  of  an  individual  tyrant  backed 
by  his  army  and  his  despotism." 

"  I  am  told  that  you  of  the  United  States  also  have 
czars,  trust  kings,  financial  potentates  and  other  mag- 
nates and  tyrants  who  tax  and  oppress  you,"  pompously 
retorted  Herr  Schliermacker.  "  Their  growth  in  power 
and  arrogance  leads  me  to  believe  that  they  will  not  be 
shaken  from  their  thrones  without  the  judicious  use  of 
force — preferably  dynamite." 

Fischer's  eyes  glittered  as  Schliermacker  made  this 
prediction,  or,  rather,  proffered  this  advice,  and  Dare 


HERR    JOHANN  SCHLIERMACKER  189 

understood  enough  of  what  was  said  to  become  wildly 
excited  when  the  word  "  dynamite  "  was  mentioned. 

"  That's  the  stuff !  "  he  exclaimed,  springing  to  his 
feet  and  clenching  his  hand.  "  What  we  need  in  this 
country  is  more  dynamite  and " 

"  Enough  of  that  talk,  Dare !  "  Deane  coldly  said  tb 
the  artist,  checking  his  tirade  at  its  start.  "  I  under- 
stand that  I  am  welcome  to  this  club,  but  if  an  advocacy 
of  the  use  of  dynamite  is  one  of  the  prerogatives  of  mem- 
bership you  may  count  me  out." 

"  Dare  didn't  mean  anything,"  declared  Saxon,  with 
an  indifferent  shrug  of  his  shoulders.  "  He  has  blown 
up  so  many  tyrants  with  his  tongue  that  we  have  to  read 
historical  novels  to  keep  in  touch  with  thrones." 

"  You  wait  a " 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  you  idiot !  "  exclaimed  Fischer, 
grasping  the  artist  by  the  arm  and  forcing  him  to  a 
chair. 

Dare's  face  paled,  he  looked  defiantly  into  Deane's 
steady  eyes  for  an  instant  and  then  subsided. 

Had  anyone  cared  to  have  watched  the  pretended 
visitor  from  Berlin  he  would  have  noted  that  a  look  of 
surprise  tinged  with  disappointment  came  to  his  face 
when  Deane  made  his  emphatic  protest  against  anarchy 
and  dynamite.  It  was  not  the  expression  of  one  who 
regrets  mildly  that  another  does  not  subscribe  to  a  pet 
theory,  neither  was  it  that  of  a  man  who  is  rebuffed  in 
debate,  but  rather  a  frown  of  annoyance  based  on  more 
personal  considerations. 


190 


THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 


"  The  trouble  with  this  country,  Herr  Schliermacker," 
Deane  said,  "  is  not  that  we  have  too  little  anarchy,  but 
rather  that  we  have  too  much  of  it.  It  is  not  the  anarchy 
of  crazed  poverty,  but  the  calculating  anarchy  of  selfish 
and  law-defying  wealth.  The  tyrants  you  have  in  mind 
have  risen  to  power  because  they  have  been  a  law  unto 
themselves.  They  believe  that  their  rights  as  individ- 
uals are  greater  than  those  of  the  government,  and  when 
we  attempt  to  check  or  regulate  them  they  turn  to  brib- 
ery, dishonesty,  perjury,  the  debauchery  of  legislature 
and  the  courts,  and  as  a  last  but  not  uncommon  resort, 
open  defiance  of  the  law  and  its  administrators.  It  is  a 
fact  beyond  dispute  that  many  great  fortunes  were  made 
dishonestly  and  are  being  held  illegally.  That  is  the 
anarchy  with  which  we  have  to  contend." 

"  And  you  will  overthrow  these  conquering  money 
kings  with  votes,  I  presume  ?  "  sneered  Schliermacker. 

"  If  we  cannot  protect  ourselves  with  votes,  then 
democracy  is  a  failure  so  far  as  we  are  concerned,  and 
we  are  fit  only  for  serfdom,"  earnestly  declared  the 
young  lawyer.  "  Let  me  tell  you,  Herr  Schliermacker, 
that  unfair  wealth  stands  more  in  fear  of  one  man  who 
has  the  ability  to  appeal  to  the  voting  intelligence  of  the 
nation,  than  it  does  of  all  those  fanatics  who  openly  or 
secretly  advocate  the  bomb  and  other  forms  of  violence. 
It  prates  of  anarchy;  what  it  fears  is  the  peaceful  but 
irresistible  advance  of  scientific  socialism.  If  it  does 
not  hire  our  few  professional  anarchists,  it  could  well 
afford  to." 


HERR    JOH4NN  SCHLIERMACKER  191 

For  some  time  the  discussion  continued  with  a  heat 
which  at  times  bordered  on  bitterness,  Deane  holding 
his  ground  for  orderly  reform  alone  against  the  invective 
of  Schliermacker,  the  sarcasm  of  Saxon  and  the  silent 
and  sullen  opposition  of  Fischer,  expressed  in  looks  and 
gestures  which  left  no  doubt  as  to  his  attitude. 

Schliermacker  vainly  tried  to  shake  his  position,  but 
Deane  stoutly  contended  that  so  long  as  the  American 
citizen  possessed  the  ballot  he  held  a  weapon  sufficient  to 
correct  any  abuse. 

"  What  the  average  citizen  needs  is  the  intelligence  to 
vote  for  his  own  interest,"  he  said.  "  That  will  come  to 
him.  When  it  does,  and  when  he  demands  his  own  by 
le^al  methods,  then  there  may  be  an  appeal  to  force,  but 
it  will  come  from  the  property  class.  They  fear  nothing 
so  much  as  the  law-making  power  in  the  hands  of  the 
masses,  and  that  power  will  overtake  them." 

With  this  parting  shot  Deane  looked  at  his  watch, 
excused  himself  and  abruptly  left  the  room.  Schlier- 
macker arose  and  seemed  about  to  follow  him,  but 
changed  his  mind.  He  remained  until  a  late  hour,  met 
other  members  of  the  club,  insisted  on  "  filling  the  old 
oaken  bucket,"  and  seemed  to  take  more  pleasure  in 
Steinbach's  zither  music  than  he  did  in  the  debates  and 
gossip  which  followed. 

He  asked  Fischer  questions  about  the  Buckingham 
strike,  but  the  draftsman  was  not  in  a  talkative  mood, 
and  he  and  Dare  left  before  midnight 

For  the  first  time  since  they  plotted  the  death  of  Buck- 


i92  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

ingham  the  weight  of  that  dastardly  enterprise  oppressed 
and  awed  them.  Now  that  they  turned  towards  the  little 
apartment  where  Annieta  was  awaiting  them,  the  dark 
and  noisome  tunnel  which  reached  from  the  deserted 
house  almost  to  the  laboratory  seemed  monstrous  and 
unreal.  Each  knew  that  the  other  was  possessed  by  this 
thought,  but  Fischer  was  the  first  to  shake  it  from  him. 

"  Two  more  days,  Wallace,  and  one  task  will  be 
ended,"  he  said,  slipping  his  arm  into  that  of  the  artist's. 
"  You  don't  regret  that  we  started  it,  do  you  ?  " 

"  No,  but  I  wish  it  was  over,"  Dare  said,  a  weary  note 
in  his  voice  which  was  foreign  to  him.  "  I  dream  about 
it,  dream  about  it  every  time  I  try  to  sleep.  Yesterday 
I  dreamed  that  when  we  fired  the  mine  we  found  the 
dead  body  of  Annieta  in  the  ruins  of  the  laboratory.  I 
can  see  her  just  as  she  looked  when  we  bent  over  her." 

"  Don't  talk  about  anything  like  that,"  the  father 
said,  and  Dare  felt  his  hand  close  convulsively  on  his 
arm.  "  You  should  not  have  gone  into  this.  It  was  my 
affair,  and  I  should  have  kept  it  to  myself.  You  are 
young,  success  and  happiness  will  come  to  you;  let  me 
alone  from  this  on  and  I  will  square  my  account  with 
him." 

"  I'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind !  "  cried  Dare.  "  I'll 
stand  by  you  till  the  finish,  no  matter  what  happens. 
Say  no  more  about  it,  it  will  do  no  good.  I  had  a  streak 
of  the  blues  for  a  while,  but  that's  nothing,  and  I'm  over 
them  now." 

Dare  laughed  in  his  light-hearted  way,  and  when 


HERR    JOHANN  SCHLIERMACKER  193 

Fischer  remained  silent,  hummed  the  air  of  a  song  which 
had  a  current  popularity.  Knowing  that  it  was  useless 
to  attempt  to  dissuade  him,  Fischer  took  another  tack. 

"  Then  you  must  do  as  I  tell  you,"  he  insisted,  "  and 
from  this  time  on  you  will  take  it  easy.  I  have  arranged 

to  get  the — the  stuff "  he  hesitated,  lowering  his 

voice  to  a  whisper,  "  and  if  you  care  to  go  with  me  we 
will  get  it  and  take  it  home  with  us." 

Dare  understood,  and  they  walked  half  a  mile  out  of 
their  way  until  they  came  to  an  open  space  where  exca- 
vators had  been  at  work  blasting  out  rock  for  the  sub- 
stories  of  some  large  structure.  The  street  was  half- 
blocked  with  brick,  lumber  and  other  building  materials, 
in  the  midst  of  which  was  a  small  construction  shanty. 

Having  warned  Dare  to  keep  on  past  this  place, 
Fischer  turned  in  toward  the  shanty  and  stopped  and 
chatted  a  iew  minutes  with  a  man  who  presumably  acted 
as  night  watchman.  What  passed  between  Fischer  and 
this  man  is  not  known,  but  when  the  former  rejoined 
Dare,  he  had  a  package  which  he  carried  carefully  under 
his  right  arm. 

Annieta  opened  the  door  for  them  when  she  heard 
their  steps  on  the  stairs,  and  her  woman's  eyes  naturally 
were  attracted  to  the  parcel. 

"  What  have  you  been  buying,  papa  ?  "  she  demanded, 
trying  to  untie  the  string  in  her  eagerness  to  know.  "  I 
hope  it's  new  table-cloths ;  we  need  some  dreadfully." 

"  It's  nothing  for  you,  my  pet,"  he  said,  pushing  her 
away  gently  and  moving  toward  the  door  of  his  room. 
13 


i94  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

"  It's  papers  and  things  belonging  to  the  union,  and  I'm 
going  to  work  on  them  when  I'm  not  so  busy  nights. 
You  shall  have  the  new  table-cloths  to-morrow.  Pick 
them  out,  Annieta,  and  buy  something  nice  for  your- 
self," and  laying  the  parcel  carefully  on  the  table,  he 
reached  into  his  pocket  and  handed  her  a  bank-note. 

"  You're  a  darling,  papa !  "  she  exclaimed,  her  soft 
arms  about  his  neck.  "  But  you  forget  that  I  have 
money  in  the  bank ;  lots  and  lots  of  money !  " 

"  Keep  it,  my  pet,"  he  said  slowly,  a  haunted  look  in 
his  eyes  which  she  did  not  see.  "  Take  good  care  of  it, 
Annieta,  you  may  need  it  some  day." 

"  I'm  stingy,"  she  declared,  "  but  I've  prepared  a  nice 
warm  supper  for  you  and  Mr.  Dare,  and  I  should  have 
been  awfully  disappointed  if  you  had  not  come  home." 

Fischer  went  to  his  room  and  placed  the  dynamite  in 
the  lower  drawer  of  a  desk  in  which  he  kept  papers  and 
records  pertaining  to  trade  union  affairs.  Never  did  he 
seem  more  care-free  than  over  this  midnight  supper  with 
his  daughter  and  Wallace  Dare. 

The  next  night  at  an  early  hour  Fischer  and  Dare 
resumed  work  on  the  tunnel.  They  were  greatly  re- 
freshed after  their  rest,  and  with  Fischer  as  sapper  they 
made  rapid  progress.  The  soil  was  soft  and  easy  to 
handle,  and  they  had  become  inured  to  their  task. 

Greatly  to  Fischer's  surprise  his  pick  struck  some- 
thing hard  after  they  had  been  delving  for  several  hours. 
It  was  then  about  one  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  an 
examination  proved  to  him  that  he  was  squarely  against 


HERR   JOHANN  SCHLIERMACKER  195 

the  stone  foundation  of  the  laboratory.  He  had  made  a 
miscalculation  of  at  least  five  feet  in  the  distance,  and 
when  Dare  came  forward  Fischer  held  the  candle  so  that 
its  light  fell  on  the  face  of  a  wall  with  clearly  defined 
mortar  spaces. 

"  We  are  there ! "  he  whispered,  gently  tapping  the 
black  stones.  In  this  uncanny  place  the  flickering  flame 
of  the  candle  revealed  the  dirt-begrimed  face  of  the 
arch-conspirator ;  a  face  distorted  with  a  smile  so  ghastly 
and  malignant  that  Dare  recoiled  for  an  instant  as  he 
gazed  into  it. 

"  Let's  get  out  of  here ;  out  where  we  can  talk — and 
think,"  he  insisted,  hanging  to  Fischer's  sleeve.  There 
was  fear  and  awe  in  his  voice,  but  the  older  man  did  not 
note  it 

"  All  right,  Wallace,"  he  said,  wiping  the  perspira- 
tion from  his  face  and  looking  fondly  at  the  wall  which 
told  of  a  task  nearly  ended.  A  minute  later  he  straight- 
ened up  in  the  basement,  drew  a  long  breath  and  drank 
deeply  from  a  pail  of  water. 

It  had  been  their  practice  each  night  to  make  occa- 
sional observations  from  the  upper  floor,  or  from  the 
roof,  to  determine  if  Buckingham  was  in  the  laboratory, 
and  to  ascertain  as  much  as  they  could  about  his  habits. 
Not  a  night  had  passed,  until  this  one,  without  light 
showing  through  the  roof  windows  of  the  mysterious 
brick  structure,  convincing  proof  that  the  master  of  the 
mills  was  at  his  unknown  task. 

As  a  rule  this  light  appeared  about  nine  o'clock  and 


196  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

burned  steadily  until  long  after  midnight.  On  one 
occasion  he  was  still  at  work  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing, but  on  the  night  now  described  Dare  had  looked  in 
vain  for  signs  of  activity. 

"  Do  you  suppose  he's  in  there  now  ?  "  asked  Fischer, 
looking  at  his  watch.  "  I'd  like  to  know." 

"Why?" 

"  If  he  isn't,  I  can  knock  a  couple  of  feet  of  that  foun- 
dation wall  out,  and  thus  save  the  work  of  going  that 
much  below  it,"  replied  Fischer.  "  Let's  take  a  look." 

They  put  on  their  coats  and  climbed  to  the  roof  of  the 
building.  There  was  no  light  in  the  laboratory,  and 
only  the  dull  gleam  of  a  hall  gas  jet  showed  through  the 
windows  of  the  mansion. 

It  happened  that  Mr.  Peters,  the  silent  and  discreet 
private  secretary,  did  not  sleep  well  that  night.  His 
room  was  an  upper  one  in  the  rear  of  the  building,  and 
as  the  air  was  close  and  still,  he  arose  and  pulled  aside 
the  curtains  so  as  to  give  entrance  to  any  passing  breeze. 

As  he  adjusted  the  curtains  and  stood  for  a  moment  by 
the  opened  window,  the  chimney  of  a  blast  mill  to  the 
east  belched  forth  its  intermittent  flame.  It  was  as  if 
a  conflagration  sprang  instantly  into  being,  and  raged  a 
few  seconds  with  uncontrolled  fury.  Mr.  Peters  had 
seen  this  phenomenon  a  thousand  times  before,  and  was 
accustomed  to  lie  in  bed  and  watch  the  fitful  yellow 
glow,  but  as  he  looked  out  of  the  window  on  this  occasion 
he  saw  something  which  aroused  his  curiosity,  and  later 
his  suspicions.  • 


HERR    JOHANN  SCHLIERMACKER  197 

On  the  roof  of  the  vacant  building  he  saw  two  male 
figures  sharply  silhouetted  against  the  quivering  radi- 
ance of  the  flame  which  burned  into  the  night  These 
figures  were  motionless.  One  was  partly  obscured  by 
the  branch  of  a  tree,  and  as  Peters  moved  to  get  a  less 
obstructed  view,  the  huge  torch  of  the  mill  faltered, 
shuddered  and  disappeared.  When  it  reappeared  a 
minute  later  the  figures  had  vanished. 

It  was  an  odd  happening,  but  Mr.  Peters  was  sleepy 
and  it  did  not  trouble  his  dreams.  He  thought  of  it 
during  the  next  day,  but  did  not  attach  any  great  im- 
portance to  it.  That  evening  he  looked  once  or  twice  at 
the  roof  of  the  vacant  house  but  saw  no  figures.  He 
reflected  that  it  was  possible  he  was  not  fully  awake 
when  he  imagined  he  saw  these  men  on  the  edge  of  the 
roof.  It  was  not  worth  bringing  to  the  attention  of  Mr. 
Buckingham,  though  he  reflected  that  possibly  Jacoby 
should  hear  of  it. 


CHAPTEK  XV 

THE  NIGHT  OF  THE  STOEM 

WHEN  Deane  left  The  Well  after  his  first  meeting 
with  Schliermacker,  he  found  Long  Bill  in  the  outer 
room. 

"  I  had  a  telegram  this  afternoon  from  Captain  Stark 
saying  that  he  would  be  back  from  Boston  Thursday 
evening,"  the  latter  announced.  "  Shall  I  send  him  up 
to  your  rooms  ?  " 

"  I  address  a  mass  meeting  of  the  Buckingham  strik- 
ers that  evening,"  Deane  answered.  "  I  will  let  you 
know  later  just  when  it  will  be  best  for  him  to  call  on 
me." 

A  torrid  spell  of  weather  set  in  with  the  opening  of 
this  week,  and  as  the  days  dragged  out  their  torturing 
hours  the  heat  and  humidity  increased,  until  the  city 
seethed  and  sweltered  in  a  glaring  sun  by  day  and  a 
merciless  and  sickening  calm  by  night.  Horses  lay  dead 
in  the  blistering  streets,  the  list  of  the  sunstruck  length- 
ened with  every  issue  of  the  papers,  those  of  wealth  fled 
the  city,  while  poverty  poured  into  the  parks  or  slept 
with  upturned  faces  on  the  roofs  and  fire  escapes  of 
tenement  houses. 


THE   NIGHT  OF   THE   STORM  igg 

Alice  Buckingham  and  Dolly  Farnsworth  were  pre- 
paring to  leave  the  city  for  the  seashore.  No  premoni- 
tion of  the  coming  storm  came  to  the  fair  daughter  of 
the  master  of  the  mills,  but  life  was  dreary  in  the  old 
mansion.  She  found  herself  wondering  at  times  if 
Deane  would  visit  the  resort  at  which  she  proposed  to 
stay  during  the  long  summer  months. 

If  the  young  reformer  had  known  of  her  thoughts  in 
those  idle  moments  the  burden  which  was  about  to  fall 
on  him  would  have  been  lighter.  Little  did  she  dream 
that  a  remark  inspired  by  the  coldness  of  her  father  had 
made  him  the  most  miserable  of  men.  Less  than  three 
weeks  had  passed  since  they  had  met  at  Mrs.  Stack- 
Haven's  reception ;  it  seemed  only  yesterday  to  her — it 
seemed  an  age  to  him.  For  her,  life  flowed  smoothly — 
he  was  tossed  and  bruised  in  the  rapids. 

Herr  Johann  Schliermacker  spent  most  of  his  time  in 
and  about  The  Well.  He  asked  repeatedly  for  "  that 
smart  young  socialist,  Mr.  Deane."  Long  Bill  explained 
that  Deane  was  probably  preparing  his  address  for  the 
mass  meeting,  whereupon  Schliermacker  declared  that 
he  would  attend  and  listen  to  the  speech. 

Schliermacker  enjoyed  the  attacks  made  by  Magoon 
and  others  on  Amos  Buckingham,  and  took  pains  to 
draw  out  the  labor  men  on  that  subject  He  expressed 
a  great  desire  to  see  "  Buckingham,"  and  was  free  with 
his  advice  as  to  the  best  way  to  wreak  revenge  on  him. 
He  could  find  no  evidence,  however,  that  the  animosity 
against  the  mill-owner  extended  to  anything  more  than 


200  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

words.  Fischer  and  Dare  could  not  be  induced  to  dis- 
cuss the  personality  of  that  unpopular  character,  but 
their  looks  were  eloquent  whenever  his  name  was  men- 
tioned. 

Schliermacker  understood  this,  and  he  felt  a  certain 
pity  for  Fischer.  The  latter  talked  freely  on  other  sub- 
jects, and  the  distinguished  guest  was  surprised  at  the 
extent  of  his  information  and  the  keenness  of  his  grasp 
of  social  questions.  Fischer  told  him  something  of  his 
past,  and  this  cold  man  actually  warmed  toward  the 
leader  of  his  striking  workmen.  They  were  together 
each  night,  but  it  never  occurred  to  him  to  suspect 
Fischer,  much  less  to  follow  him  out  of  The  Well. 

There  was  a  comradeship  in  this  quaint  resort  which 
had  a  fascination  for  him.  It  was  a  new  world,  inhab- 
ited by  strange  but  agreeable  people.  Their  view  of 
things  was  the  antithesis  of  his  view,  yet,  odd  as  it  may 
seem,  they  did  not  offend  him.  Forced  to  act  a  part,  he 
was  astounded  at  the  ease  with  which  he  argued  against 
tenets  which  he  had  deemed  unassailable.  He  thor- 
oughly enjoyed  this  experience. 

He  was  almost  ready  to  recant  his  charges  against 
Deane,  but  he  wished  to  see  and  hear  more  of  him.  As 
for  the  others,  he  was  convinced  that  they  were  not 
vicious.  They  were  dreamers,  perhaps,  impractical  be- 
yond a  doubt,  but  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  was 
able  to  understand  the  reason  for  their  attitude.  The 
Well  was  an  economic  kindergarten  for  the  master  of  the 
Buckingham  mills. 


THE   NIGHT  OF   THE  STORM  201 

Late  on  Wednesday  night  Fischer  and  Dare  finished 
their  work  on  the  tunnel.  It  penetrated  to  the  centre  of 
the  laboratory — as  near  as  Fischer  could  estimate  it — 
and  there  was  no  doubt  in  his  mind  that  the  explosion  of 
twenty-five  pounds  of  gelatin  dynamite  would  instantly 
kill  any  person  within  the  limited  space  of  the  walls. 

Again  the  two  men  took  frequent  observations  from 
the  upper  floor  of  the  building,  but  the  laboratory  re- 
mained dark.  Had  their  intended  victim  been  warned 
in  some  mysterious  way  ?  Dare  whispered  this  fear  as 
they  took  their  last  look  at  the  little  brick  hut  an  hour 
before  daybreak  on  Thursday  morning,  but  Fischer's 
scornful  laugh  reassured  him. 

"  He's  out  of  the  city  or  busy  on  some  other  work,"  he 
declared.  "  I  heard  yesterday  that  the  trust  is  grinding 
the  life  out  of  him,  and  perhaps  he  is  in  Philadelphia 
negotiating  with  them.  Be  patient,  my  boy ;  he'll  come 
back  like  a  lover  to  his  sweetheart.  Mark  my  word; 
there'll  be  a  light  in  that  laboratory  to-night,  and  by 
that  time  we'll  be  ready  for  him." 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Dare.  "  This  strain  is  telling  on 
me  more  than  I  thought  it  would." 

"  It  will  soon  be  over,  Wallace." 

They  went  home  and  slept  until  one  o'clock  Thursday 
afternoon.  After  breakfast  Fischer  parted  with  his 
daughter  with  more  than  usual  tenderness,  and  there 
was  something  in  his  manner  which  puzzled  and  fright- 
ened her.  She  could  not  tell  exactly  what  it  was,  but 
when  the  door  closed  behind  them  she  was  thrilled  by  a 


202  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

presentiment  that  some  dread  calamity  was  impending. 

This  fear  so  haunted  her  that  she  could  not  restrain 
her  nervousness.  Her  neighbor,  the  kind-hearted  Mrs. 
Janssen,  called  and  found  Annieta  in  tears.  She  laughed 
away  the  spell  which  had  tormented  the  beautiful  young 
girl,  and  when  Mrs.  Janssen  left  an  hour  later  the  little 
housekeeper  was  in  her  usual  good  spirits. 

Annieta  had  bravely  taken  up  the  task  which  had 
fallen  from  the  hands  of  her  mother.  It  was  lonesome 
in  the  little  flat,  and  she  could  hardly  realize  that  the 
dear  face  of  her  mother  never  again  would  greet  her, 
and  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  believe  that  the  merry 
laughter  of  her  brother  would  never  again  echo  through 
the  cheerless  rooms.  Fate  had  been  cruel  to  this  gentle 
daughter  of  the  anarchist,  but  she  had  yet  to  drink  the 
lees  of  a  more  bitter  cup. 

Only  a  few  days  before,  her  father  had  taken  her  to 
the  bank,  and  had  deposited  to  her  credit  four  hundred 
dollars.  Four  hundred  dollars!  It  was  an  enormous 
sum,  and  she  could  not  imagine  where  he  had  obtained 
it,  but  she  had  implicit  faith  that  it  was  honestly  his. 

The  bank  book  lay  on  her  dresser,  and  she  opened  it 
and  looked  proudly  at  the  figures  on  the  clean  white 
page.  She  blushed  as  she  wondered  how  it  would  seem 
to  be  a  young  housewife,  entrusted  by  a  loving  husband 
with  so  vast  an  amount  of  money.  She  sighed  as  she 
carefully  placed  it  away.  Annieta  was  in  love. 

She  was  in  love,  and  not  a  soul  in  all  the  wide  world 
had  the  faintest  suspicion  of  the  secret  locked  in  that 


THE   NIGHT  OF   THE  STORM  2O3 

gentle  heart  Annieta's  love  was  the  love  of  a  violet 
whose  petals  turn  shyly  to  a  mountain  casting  his  huge 
shadow  across  a  lake  which  separates  him  from  her  for- 
ever. Annieta's  love  was  voiceless,  and  she  knew  beyond 
the  faintest  doubt  that  it  was  hopeless,  yet  strange  as  it 
may  seem,  she  was  happy  in  it. 

From  a  hiding-place  she  took  another  book;  a  scrap- 
book  whose  leather  cover  was  illuminated  with  silver 
letters.  It  was  a  Christmas  gift  for  which  she  had  found 
no  use  until  a  few  days  before.  She  opened  it  and  gazed 
with  wistful  eyes  and  parted  lips  at  the  first  page.  On 
it  was  pasted  a  picture  of  Stanley  Deane ! 

He  was  her  god,  and  this  daughter  of  an  atheist  could 
conceive  of  no  higher  divinity.  This  beautiful  pagan 
was  content  to  worship  him  from  afar ;  content  to  know 
that  her  whispered  prayers  would  never  reach  his  ears ; 
serene  in  the  knowledge  that  he  once  had  deigned  to 
befriend  her  through  her  father,  and  yearningly  hoping 
for  the  chance  that  she  would  be  permitted  to  return  to 
him  a  tithe  of  this  favor. 

There  was  nothing  selfish  in  this  love  of  Annieta  for 
Deane.  It  was  the  love  of  the  human  for  the  ideal,  and 
it  was  merely  an  accident  that  this  ideal  had  an  actual 
existence.  He  was  as  utterly  beyond  her  reach  as  is  the 
sculptured  creation  of  an  artist  to  those  who  worship  its 
cold  beauty. 

She  had  loved  him  from  the  moment  he  spoke  to  her 
that  terrible  day  after  the  riot;  from  the  moment  he 
talked  kindly  to  her  when  her  father  was  dragged  from 


204  THE   BOTTOM   OF    THE    WELL 

a  cell  to  the  court  room.  His  voice  had  thrilled  her  as 
he  addressed  the  judge  in  behalf  of  her  father.  To  her 
Stanley  Deane  was  the  personification  of  manliness, 
bravery,  honor  and  courtesy.  He  had  looked  at  her  with 
a  smile  which  told  her  not  to  fear,  and  from  that  instant 
she  did  not  doubt  that  her  father  would  be  free. 

While  putting  the  house  in  order  she  came  across  a 
collection  of  clippings  made  by  her  father.  These  were 
extracts  from  newspapers  and  trade  journals  treating  of 
union  matters,  and  amongst  them  were  several  pictures 
of  Deane  with  such  captions  as  "  The  Titled  Reformer," 
"  The  Aristocratic  Labor  Leader,"  "  A  Millionaire 
Socialist,"  "  A  Gentleman  Walking  Delegate,"  and 
others  more  or  less  misleading  and  sensational.  There 
were  also  reports  of  his  speeches  and  a  few  paragraphs 
about  court  cases.  She  wondered  that  her  father  had 
taken  the  pains  to  preserve  them,  but  she  knew  that  he 
admired  Deane  greatly. 

In  the  society  columns  of  a  Sunday  paper  she  had 
found  a  description  of  Mrs.  Stack-Haven's  reception, 
also  a  picture  of  the  debutante,  Miss  Alice  Buckingham. 
In  the  report  of  this  affair  the  name  of  Deane  had  been 
coupled  with  that  of  Miss  Buckingham  by  the  indiscreet 
writer,  who  broadly  intimated  that  there  was  a  pretty 
romance  back  of  this  meeting  between  "  the  beautiful 
daughter  and  heiress  of  a  wealthy  manufacturer  and  the 
handsome  young  aristocrat  and  social  reformer." 

What  more  fitting,  so  Annieta  reflected,  than  that  he 
should  fall  in  love  with  Miss  Buckingham.  She  was 


THE   NIGHT  OF   7 HE   STORM  205 

very  beautiful — her  picture  told  that,  and  the  press 
raved  over  her  graces  of  mind  and  face — and  it  was 
certain  that  he  would  some  day  marry.  Why  should  he 
not  choose  this  gracious  and  lovely  girl? 

Yet  behold  a  miracle ! — a  miracle  capable  of  fruition 
only  in  the  heart  of  a  woman — from  that  moment  An- 
nieta  was  jealous  of  Alice  Buckingham. 

This  jealousy  was  as  unreal  and  as  impersonal  as 
the  love  which  inspired  it.  It  was  not  the  active  and 
aggressive  heart-burning  of  a  rival,  but  rather  the  mute 
and  helpless  protest  of  one  condemned  to  look  on  from 
afar.  It  was  childish,  of  course,  but  it  seemed  quite  real 
to  Annieta.  She  loved  her  ideal  very  much,  and  she 
hated  the  innocent  Alice  as  bitterly  as  she  could  hate 
anything,  but  in  the  end  her  love  was  stronger  than  her 
hate,  and  in  this  she  proved  her  womanhood. 

While  putting  her  room  in  order  this  Thursday  after- 
noon she  picked  up  the  scrap-book  and  looked  long  and 
earnestly  at  the  picture  of  Deane.  She  was  to  see  him 
that  night. 

Not  as  other  girls  see  the  ones  they  love ;  far  from  it. 
She  did  not  expect  to  speak  to  him,  she  hardly  dared 
hope  that  he  would  look  at  her,  but  she  was  happy  in  the 
thought  that  she  would  see  and  hear  him.  He  was  to 
address  the  strikers  in  a  large  hall  near  by,  and  the  wives 
and  daughters  were  invited.  Annieta  had  planned  to  go 
early  so  as  to  get  a  seat  near  the  platform. 

As  she  turned  over  the  pages  of  the  scrap-book  and 
read  for  the  hundredth  time  the  clippings  descriptive  of 


206  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

her  hero  and  his  work,  it  suddenly  occurred  to  her  that 
her  father  had  brought  home  a  package  containing 
papers  and  data  relating  to  trade-union  matters.  Pos- 
sibly it  contained  more  articles  about  Deane  ?  It  would 
be  an  easy  matter  to  unwrap  the  package,  look  over  the 
contents  and  retie  it. 

The  drawer  in  which  Fischer  had  placed  the  parcel 
was  locked,  but  she  knew  of  a  key  which  would  open  it, 
and  while  her  conscience  did  not  trouble  her,  she  was 
strangely  excited  when  the  drawer  slid  back  and  dis- 
closed what  she  was  looking  for. 

The  coarse  wrapping  paper  was  stained  with  mud,  as 
if  it  had  been  dropped  in  the  street.  It  was  wonderfully 
heavy,  and  Annieta  tugged  with  all  her  strength  to  lift 
it  from  the  drawer  to  the  bed.  She  did  not  grasp  it 
securely,  she  was  hurried  and  nervous,  and  in  some 
manner  the  clumsy  package  slipped  from  her  hands  to 
the  floor. 

The  force  of  its  fall  shook  the  room,  but  it  was  de- 
creed that  nothing  else  should  happen!  The  stored 
force  in  the  package  so  carelessly  handled  by  a  delicate 
girl  was  destined  to  do  a  certain  work,  and  the  fates 
did  not  permit  her  white  hands  to  interfere. 

Annieta  laughed  as  she  picked  it  from  the  floor  and 
placed  it  on  the  bed.  Within  the  paper  wrapping  was 
another  of  dirty,  oily  cloth,  securely  tied  with  hempen 
cord.  She  almost  repented  of  her  task,  but  kept  at  it 
At  last  Annieta  laid  back  the  folds  of  cloth. 

Within  were  a  score  or  more  cylinders  of  a  grayish 


THE   NIGHT  OF   THE   STORM  2O7 

color.  They  were  about  eight  inches  long  and  an  inch 
and  a  half  thick,  and  they  looked  to  the  startled  girl 
like  enormous  cartridges.  For  a  brief  moment  they 
reminded  her  of  the  phonograph  cylinders  used  by  the 
Levy  children  on  the  floor  above,  and  then  like  a  blow 
came  a  suspicion. 

They  were  dynamite  cartridges!  She  sank  back 
almost  in  a  faint  when  the  truth  dazed  her.  There  was 
hardly  a  doubt  of  the  character  of  those  innocent-looking 
cylinders.  A  year  before,  Annieta  and  other  girls  had 
coaxed  the  watchman  of  a  little  red  shanty  to  let  them 
hold  in  their  hands  some  of  the  dreaded  explosive,  and 
the  good-natured  Irishman  had  risked  his  position  and 
possibly  his  life  to  humor  the  pretty  misses  who  tempted 
him.  And  Annieta  had  not  forgotten  her  impressions 
of  that  moment  when  she  tightly  clutched  a  dynamite 
cartridge. 

She  had  heard  that  her  father  was  an  anarchist,  and 
while  she  knew  little  of  anarchy  she  agreed  with  others 
in  associating  it  with  dynamite.  She  knew  that  her 
father  was  crazed  with  grief,  and  she  had  overheard 
words  between  him  and  Dare  which  hinted  at  revenge. 
And  then  the  thought  of  their  strange  night  work  came 
to  her. 

As  she  stared  at  the  dynamite,  many  little  happenings 
which  had  vaguely  puzzled  her  took  on  a  sinister  mean- 
ing. Her  father's  shoes  had  been  covered  with  mud  and 
clay,  and  so  had  those  belonging  to  Dare,  and  she  had 
cleaned  them  each  day  before  they  went  away.  Their 


2o8  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

fingers  had  been  blistered  and  their  hands  cut  and 
bruised. 

Wild  with  fear,  the  poor  child  did  not  know  which 
way  to  turn.  She  was  afraid  that  one  of  the  neighbors 
would  come  in  and  find  her  looking  at  those  frightful 
cylinders.  She  imagined  that  every  footfall  on  the  stairs 
was  that  of  an  officer  in  search  of  her  father. 

With  trembling  fingers  she  rewrapped  the  package, 
hesitated  a  minute  and  then  put  it  back  in  the  drawer. 

It  was  six  o'clock  in  the  evening,  but  the  sun  still 
levelled  his  burning  rays  on  the  afflicted  metropolis. 
But  Annieta  thought  nothing  of  the  heat.  She  must  find 
her  father  and  plead  with  him  to  abandon  the  wild 
scheme  suggested  by  her  discovery.  Where  should  she 
find  him?  She  knew  of  several  places  which  he  fre- 
quented. She  must  find  him,  she  would  find  him ! 

She  would  first  go  to  the  office  of  the  strikers.  It  was 
the  hour  of  day  when  the  streets  are  crowded  with  home- 
going  work  folk,  and  several  packed  cars  passed  her 
before  she  stopped  one.  It  seemed  as  if  she  would  never 
reach  the  cross  street  on  which  the  head-quarters  were 
located. 

He  was  not  there.  One  of  the  strikers  said  he  was 
expected  to  arrive  any  minute,  and  Annieta  waited  in 
an  agony  of  dread.  Five  minutes  passed,  a  quarter  of 
an  hour,  half  an  hour,  and  the  little  clock  struck  seven. 
Then  one  of  the  men  suggested  that  she  would  surely 
find  him  at  the  mass  meeting  an  hour  or  so  later. 

"  Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you,  Miss  Fischer  ?  " 


THE   NIGHT  OF   THE  STORM  2O9 

asked  this  young  man,  who  had  long  been  an  admirer  of 
the  daughter  of  his  leader. 

"  No,  no !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  You  can  do  nothing. 
No  one  can  do  anything  but  me !  "  and  with  a  catch  of 
her  breath  and  an  appealing  look  she  rushed  from  the 
room. 

Half  an  hour  later  she  pushed  through  the  folding 
screens  of  Long  Bill's  place  and  boldly  entered.  With 
a  reassuring  smile  and  an  awkward  bow  he  came  toward 
her  and  escorted  her  to  a  quiet  corner.  She  was  so  ex- 
cited and  exhausted  that  at  the  moment  she  could  not 
speak. 

"  What  is  the  trouble,  Miss  Fischer  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  Is  my  father  here  ?    Oh,  tell  me  that  he  is  here !  " 
she  cried. 

"  He  was  here  not  long  ago,  he  and  Mr.  Dare.  What 
has  happened  ?  Tell  me ;  perhaps  I  can  help  you." 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,"  she  moaned,  rising  unsteadily  to 
her  feet.  "  I  must  find  him ;  I  must  find  him !  Oh, 
Mr.  Parker !  "  she  faltered,  laying  her  hand  on  his  arm 
and  lifting  her  tear-stained  eyes  to  his  face,  "  I  must  say 
something !  Tell  papa,  if  you  see  him,  that  I  was  here 
and  that  I  know  all  about  it.  Tell  him  that  I  know 
what  he  is  going  to  do,  and  tell  him  that  I  beg  him  not 
to  do  it!  I  am  so  frightened!  If  he  comes  in  here 
don't  let  him  go  away." 

She  sank  back  into  the  chair  and  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands.    It  was  a  new  situation  for  the  sailor, 
and  he  was  distressed  and  puzzled. 
14 


2io  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

"  But  what  has  he  done  ?  "  he  ventured.  "  Don't  be 
afraid  to  tell  me." 

"  I  can't,  I  dare  not !  "  she  declared,  arousing  herself 
and  rising  to  her  feet.  "  Tell  him  not  to  do  it;  tell  him 
it  will  kill  me !  If  he  comes  here  don't  let  him  go  away. 
Watch  him  and  bring  him  home  to  me !  " 

"  I'll  do  that,  miss,  and  you  can  depend  on  me," 
asserted  Long  Bill.  "  I'll  take  him  home  the  minute 
he  comes  here." 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you,  Mr.  Parker !  "  and  with  a 
grateful  look  she  turned  and  hastened  to  the  street. 

As  she  pushed  through  the  screen  doors  she  brushed 
against  Captain  Jake  Stark,  who  was  just  arriving  from 
his  eastern  journey.  The  captain  dropped  his  gripsack 
on  the  walk  and  watched  Annieta  as  she  hurried  down 
the  street  He  mopped  his  face  with  a  huge  red  hand- 
kerchief and  whistled  softly. 

"  That's  a  mighty  purty  gal,"  he  said  to  himself,  his 
eyes  on  the  graceful  figure  until  it  vanished  around  the 
corner. 

There  were  two  other  resorts  near  by  of  which  An- 
nieta had  heard  her  father  speak,  and  she  visited  them, 
but  her  mission  was  in  vain.  It  was  nearly  eight  o'clock, 
and  she  hastened  to  the  hall  where  the  meeting  was  to 
be  held,  and  followed  the  crowd  into  the  half -filled  audi- 
torium. He  was  not  there,  and  one  of  the  committee 
men  told  her  that  he  understood  that  her  father  was  not 
expected  until  late  in  the  evening,  but  she  waited  by  the 
door  and  eagerly  scanned  every  face. 


THE   NIGHT  OF    THE   STORM  211 

It  was  only  a  short  distance  to  her  home,  and  when 
the  meeting  had  started  she  decided  to  go  there.  The 
sky  was  aflame  with  lightning,  but  not  a  breath  of  air 
was  stirring. 

The  tension  was  relaxed,  and  as  she  walked  less  hur- 
riedly homeward  she  reflected  that  possibly  her  fears 
and  suspicions  were  groundless.  What  reason  had  she 
to  assume  that  those  cylinders  contained  dynamite? 
True,  it  looked  like  dynamite,  but  even  so,  her  father 
was  an  inventor,  an  experimenter,  and  for  all  she  knew 
he  might  have  some  legitimate  use  for  a  powerful  ex- 
plosive. 

It  was  dark  when  she  neared  the  entrance  to  their  flat, 
and  as  she  approached  the  grocery  store  next  to  it,  Dare 
came  from  the  building  and  walked  rapidly  away  from 
her.  Under  his  arm  was  the  parcel ! 

Her  first  impulse  was  to  speak  to  him;  then  she 
decided  to  follow  him.  It  was  likely  that  he  would  lead 
her  to  her  father,  and  once  with  him  she  would  have  no 
fears.  Annieta  had  no  difficulty  in  following  the  artist. 
He  walked  slowly,  picking  his  way  carefully  along  the 
crowded  street,  and  exercising  much  caution  in  crossing 
intersections. 

He  turned  into  a  side  street  and  walked  more  rapidly. 
She  took  little  note  of  where  they  were  going,  but  kept 
her  eyes  on  him  at  a  safe  distance  in  the  rear.  They 
had  gone  half  a  mile  or  more  when  Dare  slackened  his 
pace  and  finally  came  to  a  stop  within  the  shadow  of  the 
Buckingham  wall.  To  avoid  passing  him  Annieta 


2i2  THE   BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

crossed  the  street.  When  she  came  opposite  the  point 
where  he  had  halted,  she  looked  for  him,  but  he  had 
vanished. 

At  that  instant  a  flash  of  lightning  flamed  out  of  the 
darkness,  and  in  its  glare  Annieta  caught  a  glimpse  of 
Dare  at  the  far  end  of  the  cul-de-sac  between  the  east 
wall  of  the  Buckingham  place  and  the  vacant  house. 
The  gathering  storm  was  about  to  break  and  the  light- 
ning was  vivid  and  almost  incessant,  but  its  next  flash 
showed  no  figure  in  the  narrow  slit  between  the  wall 
and  the  house. 

With  trembling  limbs  she  crossed  the  street  and  hesi- 
tated at  the  opening  of  this  dark  and  forbidding  space. 
Why  should  he  have  gone  in  there?  A  glance  at  the 
building  showed  that  it  was  vacant,  and  though  she  had 
seen  the  Buckingham  mansion  before,  she  was  so  con- 
fused that  she  did  not  recognize  it  at  that  moment. 

Fear  held  her  back,  but  an  awful  dread  and  suspicion 
urged  her  on.  Already  was  heard  the  rumble  of  the 
artillery  of  the  storm,  and  the  space  into  which  Dare  had 
disappeared  blazed  intermittently  with  the  lightning's 
glare  and  then  was  thick  with  the  blackness  of  the  grave. 
Into  that  grave  she  entered,  picking  her  way  when  the 
skies  were  aflame,  and  halting  in  terror  when  the  dark- 
ness encompassed  her. 

Finally  Annieta  came  to  the  end  of  the  cul-de-sac.  To 
her  left  she  found  a  gate  which  was  unlatched,  and  when 
she  opened  it  she  found  herself  in  a  small  yard,  dimly 


THE   NIGHT  OF   THE   STORM  213 

lighted  from  the  rear  windows  of  tenement-houses  to  the 
south  of  her.  She  noted  that  the  door  opening  into  the 
first  floor  of  the  vacant  house  was  boarded  up,  but  that 
the  inclined  cellar  doors  were  thrown  back.  A  glance 
proved  that  the  stairs  leading  to  the  basement  had  been 
recently  used. 

Women  are  keener  observers  of  many  things  than  are 
men,  and  Annieta  knew  in  a  moment  that  Dare  had 
entered  the  basement  of  that  vacant  house.  She  picked 
her  way  down  the  stairs  and  carefully  tried  the  knob  of 
the  door.  It  was  locked.  She  pressed  against  it  with  all 
her  frail  strength,  but  it  did  not  give.  Then  she  noted 
that  one  of  the  panels  was  cracked,  and  through  it  she 
caught  a  faint  gleam  of  light. 

A  frenzy  born  of  fear  and  a  madness  inspired  by  a 
love  for  her  father  came  over  her.  She  beat  on  the  door 
until  her  knuckles  were  raw  and  bleeding,  and  kicked  at 
it  with  all  her  strength.  The  advance  blast  of  the  storm 
came  with  a  roar  of  wind  and  a  swirl  of  rain,  and  her 
wild  cries  to  her  father  to  open  the  door  mingled  in  the 
first  fury  of  the  tempest 

Despite  the  storm,  Dare  doubtless  would  have  heard 
the  pounding  on  the  door  and  the  shrill  accent  of  her 
voice  had  he  been  in  the  basement  at  that  time,  but 
before  she  had  reached  the  door  of  their  hiding-place 
Dare  had  crawled  into  the  tunneL 

She  stood  out  in  the  wild  storm  beating  at  the  door 
with  her  white  and  delicate  hands,  crying  and  moaning 


2i4  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

in  an  agony  of  terror,  her  gentle  heart  torn  with  fear  for 
the  fate  of  her  father  and  throbbing  with  her  pure  love 
for  him — while  Fischer  and  Dare  crouched  in  the  tun- 
nel beneath  the  Buckingham  laboratory ;  crouched  there 
and  counted  dynamite  cartridges  and  fondled  them  as  a 
miser  fingers  gold. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  DYNAMITEES 

THE  storm  was  at  its  height  when  Annieta  staggered 
from  the  door.  The  rain  stung  her,  the  hurricane 
dashed  her  to  earth,  but  she  struggled  to  her  feet,  pushed 
through  the  gate  and  ran  blindly  down  the  narrow  alley 
until  she  gained  the  storm-swept  and  deserted  street 

Distracted  and  beaten  by  the  fury  of  the  elements,  she 
did  not  know  where  she  was,  though  from  childhood 
she  had  been  familiar  with  that  section  of  the  city.  She 
struggled  to  the  corner  and  took  a  swift  look  around. 
Instantly  she  recognized  the  high  stone  wall  and  beyond 
it  the  old  Buckingham  mansion,  seen  dimly  through  the 
slanting  swirl  of  rain — and  in  that  moment  a  glimmer 
of  the  truth  came  to  her. 

/  Her  father  and  Wallace  Dare  were  to  kill  Bucking- 
ham !  How,  she  did  not  know,  but  that  was  the  meaning 
of  the  dynamite,  this  was  the  task  on  which  they  had 
labored  so  many  nights,  this  the  key  to  the  mystery  and 
forebodings  which  had  oppressed  her ! 

Beneath  the  shelter  of  an  awning  across  the  street 
Annieta  paused  to  regain  her  strength  and  to  collect  her 
thoughts,  and  as  she  became  calmer  there  swept  over  her 
a  moral  and  mental  reaction. 


216  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

From  the  moment  she  discovered  the  dynamite  she 
had  vaguely  associated  Buckingham  with  it,  and  she  had 
bent  all  her  strength  and  will  to  thwarting  the  crime  it 
suggested ;  but  now  that  the  death  of  the  master  of  the 
mills  seemed  a  certainty,  she  contemplated  his  fate  with 
a  composure  which  had  something  of  savagery  in  it. 

Why  should  he  not  die  ?  Why  should  he  live  when 
her  brother  and  mother  were  in  graves  of  his  making  ? 
Why  should  she  put  her  father  in  peril  for  the  sake  of 
prolonging  the  years  of  this  selfish  tyrant? 

And  Alice  Buckingham  also  would  be  killed !  There 
was  a  moment  when  this  crazed  girl  actually  revelled  in 
the  thought  that  the  fair  creature  who  had  won  the  love 
of  Deane  would  be  blotted  from  his  existence.  All  that 
was  elemental  in  her  nature  came  to  the  surface.  Her 
love  for  Deane  was  no  longer  the  shadow  of  a  dream; 
hope  piled  fuel  on  the  mounting  flames  of  her  passion, 
and  the  raucous  voice  of  jealousy  shrilled  out  the  tender 
pleadings  of  her  better  self — but  only  for  an  instant. 

Like  one  in  a  trance  she  felt  the  clutch  of  demons  at 
the  throat  and  heart,  but  she  had  the  power  to  exorcise 
them.  Her  duty  stood  clear  before  her  mental  vision, 
and  she  shuddered  to  think  of  the  wickedness  which  had 
possessed  her.  She  must  save  her  father  from  himself ; 
she  must  save  Alice  Buckingham  because — because 
Deane  loved  her. 

As  she  stood  breathless  in  these  irresolute  moments, 
the  draperies  of  a  window  on  the  second  floor  of  the 
mansion  were  pushed  gently  aside,  and  Alice  Bucking- 


THE   DTNAMITERS 


217 


ham  gazed  out  at  the  wild  night.  Only  the  width  of  a 
street  and  a  gray  stone  wall  separated  them ;  the  one  in 
a  bower  of  light,  elegance  and  luxury — the  other  cling- 
ing to  a  door  to  withstand  the  fury  of  the  tempest,  her 
garments  drenched,  her  hands  lacerated,  her  limbs 
bruised,  her  brain  numbed  with  terror  and  her  heart 
torn  by  emotions. 

With  a  cry  so  shrill  that  it  sounded  above  the  roar  of 
the  storm,  Annieta  ran  to  the  middle  of  the  street  and 
raised  her  arms  to  the  window,  but  as  she  did  so  the 
draperies  closed  and  the  figure  of  the  young  mistress  of 
the  mansion  disappeared. 

"  She  did  not  see  me !  "  moaned  Annieta.  "  What 
shall  I  do ;  oh !  what  shall  I  do  ? " 

She  ran  to  the  front  of  the  mansion  and  looked  help- 
lessly at  the  huge  iron  gates.  She  knew  that  they  were 
locked,  but  she  tugged  at  them  with  all  her  strength. 
Then  she  saw  the  button  for  the  electric  bell  and  she 
pressed  it  again  and  again.  Just  as  she  was  about  to 
abandon  this  effort,  the  door  of  the  mansion  opened  and 
a  pompous  servant  peered  out 

"  Oh,  sir,  let  me  in  just  for  a  minute  I  "  pleaded  An- 
nieta. "You  are  in  danger,  sir;  in  awful  danger  I 
Hurry,  oh,  please  hurry " 

"  Go  away  or  I'll  call  the  police !  "  angrily  called  the 
man,  and  with  a  threatening  gesture  he  closed  the  door. 

He  had  not  heard  her  words,  and  if  he  had,  it  is  un- 
likely that  he  would  have  paid  attention  to  them.  All 
that  he  saw  and  heard  was  a  wretched,  bedrabbled 


2i8  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

woman  of  the  street,  drunk  or  crazed,  clinging  at  the 
gates  and  uttering  incoherent  pleadings. 

A  bolt  of  lightning  struck  a  tree  in  the  Buckingham 
garden,  and  the  shock  stupified  her  for  a  moment,  but 
she  had  long  since  lost  her  terror  for  the  storm.  Annieta 
rang  the  bell  until  she  knew  that  the  door  would  not 
again  open,  and  then  she  hastened  along  the  side  street, 
through  the  alley  and  to  the  basement  door.  Again  she 
beat  on  it,  again  she  saw  the  faint  gleam  of  light  through 
the  cracked  panel,  but  no  answer  was  given  to  her. 

Captain  Stark  entered  Long  Bill's  place  and  met  his 
former  first  mate  after  an  absence  of  nearly  a  week. 

"  I'm  right  glad  tew  see  ye,  Bill !  "  he  declared.  "  I've 
only  lived  in  this  hotel  four  or  five  days,  but  blamed  if 
it  don't  seem  like  getting  home." 

"  Glad  you  feel  that  way  about  it,  Captain  Jake," 
replied  Long  Bill.  "  Never  mind  those  things  of  yours ; 
I'll  have  them  sent  up-stairs.  Did  you — did  you  have 
a  successful  trip  ?  " 

"  Wai,  rather,"  he  grinned,  and  then,  lowering  his 
voice,  "  I've  had  good  luck,  Bill,  ever  since  I  begun  doin' 
things  on  the  square.  Honesty's  the  proper  caper,  as 
old  King  Soloman  onct  said,  and  you  can  bet  that  from 
now  on  I'm  going  tew  be  as  straight  as  a  string." 

"Did  you  find  the  man  you  went  to  see — Captain 
Simon  Marsh,  wasn't  it  ?  " 

"  I  found  him !  "  he  joyously  proclaimed.  "  He  was 
the  man  I've  been  lookin'  for  a  good  long  while.  Say, 
Bill,  I've  got  a  story  to  tell  you  that  will  make  your 


THE   DTNAMITERS  219 

eyes  stick  out,  but  I  ain't  goin'  tew  aay  a  word  about  it 
down  here.  After  I  get  somethin'  tew  eat,  an'  a  quart 
or  so  of  'alf-an'-'alf ,  we'll  go  up  to  my  room  and  I'll  spin 
the  yarn,  an'  if  you  don't  say  it's  the  primest  thing  you 
ever  heered  I'll  buy  anything  ye  say." 

Captain  Stark  thereupon  ordered  dinner.  While  he 
was  waiting  for  it  Schliermacker  entered  the  room,  and 
Long  Bill  duly  presented  the  German  editor  to  the  old 
sailor,  mentioning  incidentally  that  the  new  guest  was 
occupying  the  room  directly  above  his. 

For  some  reason  he  had  taken  a  fancy  to  Captain 
Stark,  and  made  a  special  effort  to  be  agreeable.  They 
talked  of  the  sea,  Schliermacker  listening  with  keen  in- 
terest to  the  Captain's  quaint  yarns,  asking  many  ques- 
tions and  narrating  several  of  his  own  experiences. 

The  quiver  of  lightning  and  a  mutter  of  thunder  led 
Herr  Schliermacker  to  look  at  his  watch.  It  was  eight 
o'clock. 

"  It  will  storm,  and  I  must  go,"  he  said,  rising  and 
looking  through  the  opened  windows.  "  Young  Mister 
Deane  will  speak  to-night,  and  I  go  to  hear  him.  Smart 
young  man,  that  Deane,  eh  ?  " 

"  Never  met  him  but  once,  Mr.  Slammaker,"  said  the 
Captain,  a  piece  of  steak  suspended  before  his  mouth, 
"  but  there's  something  about  him  that  I  like." 

"  I  will  bring  him  here  after  the  meeting,"  volun- 
teered Schliermacker.  "  Good-night !  " 

The  hall  was  two  blocks  away,  and  he  declined  to  take 
an  umbrella.  Captain  Stark  leisurely  finished  his 


220  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

dinner,  Long  Bill  deserting  him  to  attend  to  customers 
who  had  been  driven  into  his  place  by  the  storm.  Not 
until  the  rain  had  ceased  did  he  find  time  to  rejoin  the 
captain,  who  was  reading  an  evening  paper. 

"  Let's  go  up  to  my  room,"  Long  Bill  suggested,  hand- 
ing him  a  cigar.  "  The  rain  has  cooled  the  air,  and 
we'll  be  comfortable  there.  I'd  like  to  hear  what  you 
did  in  Boston." 

"  All  right,  Bill,  I'll  tell  you  all  erbout  it,  and  mighty 
glad  tew  do  it." 

The  entrance  to  the  upper  rooms  was  from  the  street, 
and  the  two  men  paused  a  minute  to  enjoy  the  cool  of 
the  air  after  the  heavy  rainfall.  Long  Bill  was  watching 
the  flicker  of  lightning  to  the  east,  where  the  storm  was 
moving  out  to  sea,  but  he  was  thinking  of  "  Mascot," 
and  of  the  uncouth  man  who  stood  by  his  side. 

He  felt  the  touch  of  a  hand  on  his  arm,  and  turned  to 
look  into  the  frightened  face  of  Annieta  Fischer.  Her 
eyes  were  so  wild,  her  beautiful  face  so  haggard  with 
fear  and  agony,  and  her  garments  so  dishevelled  that  he 
did  not  at  once  recognize  her.  She  was  breathless  from 
running,  and  though  she  tried  to  speak  she  could  only 
look  appealingly  into  his  face,  her  hand  convulsively 
clutching  his  sleeve. 

"  Why,  it's  Miss  Fischer !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  What's 
the  matter  ?  Calm  yourself  and  tell  us." 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Deane  ?  "  she  gasped. 

"  He  is  speaking  over  at  the  mass  meeting." 

"  Yes,  yes ;  I  had  forgotten,"  she  whispered,  wring- 


THE   DTNAMITERS  22I 

ing  her  hands.     "  I  must  go  to  him ;  I  must  speak  to 
him!" 

With  a  startled  look  about,  as  if  not  sure  of  the  direc- 
tion, she  turned  to  go,  but  Long  Bill  caught  her  by  the 
arm  and  detained  her. 

"Tell  me  what's  the  matter,"  he  said,  firmly  but 
kindly.  "  Something's  up,  and  you  needn't  be  afraid  to 
tell  Captain  Stark  and  me  what  it  is.  We'll  do  anything 
we  can  to  help  you.  This  is  Fischer's  daughter,  Cap- 
tain." 

"  Bill  an'  I  have  had  lots  of  experience  with  trouble, 
Miss,"  Jake  Stark  said.  "  Let  us  know  who's  botherin' 
ye,  an'  we'll  make  mighty  short  work  of  him,  eh,  Bill  ?  " 

There  was  something  in  the  voice  and  in  the  honest 
eyes  of  the  old  sea  captain  that  gave  her  confidence. 

"  Listen !  "  she  said,  controlling  herself  by  a  brave 
effort.  "  Papa  and  Mr.  Dare  are  going  to  kill  Mr.  Buck- 
ingham! They  are  going  to  blow  him  up  with  dyna- 
mite !  Oh,  dear !  oh,  dear !  please  do  something  to  stop 
them — please  do  something  as  quick  as  you  can !  " 

"  You  are  dreaming,  child !  "  declared  Long  Bill. 

"  No,  no !  "  she  cried.  "  They're  there  now !  They 
may  have  done  it  already.  Oh,  hurry,  hurry !  " 

"  Where  are  they  ?    Keep  cool  a  minute  and  tell  us." 

"  They're  in  the  basement  of  the  house  just  east  of  the 
wall  around  where  Mr.  Buckingham  lives,"  she  said, 
summoning  all  her  will  power.  "  I  saw  Mr.  Dare  go  in 
there  with  dynamite,  and  I  know  papa  is  in  there,  but 


222  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

they  won't  let  me  in.  There  is  a  back  door,  but  I  couldn't 
break  it  in." 

"  Where  is  the  Buckingham  house  ? "  he  asked,  no 
longer  doubting  the  horrible  truth  of  her  story.  Annieta 
told  him,  and  without  a  word  he  rushed  to  his  rooms  for 
weapons,  but  when  he  returned  she  had  gone. 

"  She's  ran  to  the  hall  after  Deane,"  explained  Jake 
Stark.  "  I  couldn't  do  anything  with  her  after  you'd 
gone." 

"  Come  on,"  ordered  Long  Bill,  thrusting  a  revolver 
into  Stark's  pocket.  "  I'm  not  dead  sure  about  which 
way  to  go,  but  we  can  find  it.  I  knew  Fischer  was 
crazy,  and  Dare  too !  " 

"  This  dynamite  game's  a  new  one  on  me,  Bill,"  de- 
clared the  Captain.  "  It's  not  a  gentleman's  weapon, 
nohow,  but  I'm  not  afraid  tew  tackle  it.  I'm  beginning 
to  think  since  I've  been  in  this  town  that  smugglin's 
quite  genteel." 

"  Do  your  talking  after  this  job's  over,"  was  Long 
Bill's  command  as  he  set  out  at  a  pace  the  captain  found 
difficult  to  follow. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  TRAGEDY 

THE  hall  was  not  filled  when  Herr  Schliermacker  en- 
tered and  secured  a  seat  near  the  front.  Ten  minutes- 
later  when  an  officer  of  the  union  rapped  for  order  the 
place  was  crowded.  There  were  calls  for  August  Fischer, 
The  chairman  informed  them  that  Fischer  was  not  m 
the  building,  but  was  expected  later. 

Then  followed  a  short  musical  programme,  with  songs 
by  a  singing  society  organized  from  the  Buckingham 
mill  workers,  also  selections  by  their  orchestras.  Thia 
really  excellent  body  of  musicians  had  been  founded  by 
the  beneficence  of  the  elder  Buckingham,  and  Herr 
Schliermacker  was  surprised  when  he  listened  to  them. 

When  Deane  appeared  and  stood  beside  the  chairman 
there  was  a  demonstration  which  brought  a  flush  of 
pleasure  to  his  earnest  and  handsome  face.  The  work- 
men arose,  cheered  and  threw  their  hats  into  the  air ;  the 
wives  and  pretty  shop-girls  waved  kerchiefs  and  added 
their  voices  to  the  hearty  welcome.  Minutes  passed  and 
still  the  cheering  continued,  and  then  the  leader  of  the 
musicians  swung  his  baton  and  there  was  heard  the 
crashing  melody  of  "  Hail  to  the  Chief." 


224  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

He  looked  out  over  the  cheering  multitude,  and  with 
his  pleasure  was  mingled  a  sense  of  pain.  He  doubted 
if  he  would  be  with  them  again.  He  had  come  to  know 
them,  to  sympathize  with  them,  and  he  believed  that  he 
had  a  right  to  feel  that  he  had  done  something  to  help 
them,  something  to  make  them  happier,  something  to 
make  them  better  men  and  citizens. 

He  noticed  a  commotion  in  the  rear  of  the  hall.  Those 
who  had  been  unable  to  obtain  seats  were  banked  up 
several  rows  deep,  and  there  was  a  swaying  movement 
as  if  someone  were  trying  to  force  a  way  to  the  front. 
Possibly  Fischer  had  arrived?  Deane  had  wondered 
what  emergency  could  keep  the  draftsman  from  so  im- 
portant a  meeting. 

And  then  through  the  crush  came  the  figure  of  a  girl ; 
a  girl  with  wet,  clinging  and  bedraggled  garments,  her 
face  deathly  pale,  her  eyes  unnaturally  bright  and  her 
body  swaying  as  she  almost  ran  down  the  aisle.  Then 
he  recognized  Annieta  Fischer. 

The  wet  gown  of  the  girl  brushed  Schliermacker's 
hand  as  she  swept  past  him,  and  he  noted  the  look  of 
amazement  on  the  face  of  the  young  reformer.  She 
walked  directly  to  the  space  below  the  centre  of  the  plat- 
form, and  he  watched  and  tried  to  listen  while  Deane 
bent  down  as  she  spoke  into  his  ear. 

The  applause  increased  in  volume  in  consequence  of 
this  incident,  many  of  the  workers  knowing  Annieta, 
and  assuming  that  she  brought  word  that  her  father 
would  be  with  them  shortly. 


THE    TRAGEDY  225 

Her  face  was  calmer  when  she  turned  from  Deane 
and  retraced  her  steps  to  the  rear  of  the  hall,  but  its 
paleness  had  been  transferred  to  his.  He  spoke  to  the 
orchestra  leader  and  the  music  instantly  ceased.  Out 
over  the  excited  audience  went  a  telepathic  signal  that 
something  serious  and  mysterious  had  happened.  The 
cheers  died  on  their  lips,  the  flutter  of  kerchiefs  ceased, 
and  even  before  Deane  raised  his  hand  for  silence  a  hush 
had  crept  over  the  throng  as  they  waited  with  baited 
breath  for  the  words  he  would  speak. 

"  My  friends,"  he  said  in  clear  and  firm  accent, 
"  something  has  happened  which  calls  me  away.  I  am 
sorry,  but  I  must  go  at  once.  I  hope  that  I  shall  not  be 
detained  long,  and  that  it  may  be  my  privilege  to  return 
and  address  you." 

There  was  scattered  applause  followed  by  a  rising 
murmur  of  surprise  and  disappointment.  Deane  left  by 
the  stage  door,  and  he  had  no  sooner  vanished  than 
Schliermacker  hurriedly  arose  and  pushed  his  tall  form 
through  the  crowd  and  down  the  stairs. 

He  reached  the  street  in  time  to  see  the  girl  handed 
into  Deane's  carriage.    The  coachman  gave  the  horses  a 
cut  with  the  whip  and  they  dashed  down  the  street 
******** 

The  tunnel  was  completed,  and  the  two  conspirators 
only  awaited  the  signal  of  a  light  from  the  laboratory 
windows  to  make  an  end  of  their  murderous  work. 
Fischer  had  some  trouble  in  securing  possession  of  the 
proper  firing  materials,  but  he  obtained  them  late  Thurs- 
15 


226  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

day  afternoon,  and  it  was  decided  to  put  the  dynamite 
in  place  that  night. 

Dare  went  to  the  flat  for  the  package  of  cartridges 
and  was  followed  by  Annieta,  as  has  been  narrated. 
When  he  reached  the  basement  of  the  vacant  house 
Fischer  was  there,  as  by  agreement,  and  they  took  the 
dynamite,  the  fuses  and  other  materials  and  crawled 
carefully  to  the  far  end  of  the  tunnel.  They  did  not 
complete  their  work  until  after  Annieta  had  made  her 
second  futile  visit  to  the  basement  door. 

Fischer  suggested  that  they  attend  the  mass  meeting 
and  return  when  it  was  over. 

"  Something  tells  me  that  lie  will  be  in  that  laboratory 
to-night,"  he  said,  "  but  we  have  learned  that  he  works 
late.  The  later  the  hour  the  safer  it  will  be  for  us. 
More  than  that,  our  absence  from  the  meeting  will  be  an 
ugly  thing  against  us  if  we  do  anything  to-night." 

"  That's  right,"  agreed  Dare.  "  We  must  make  no 
mistakes  at  this  stage  of  the  game.  Tell  you  what  let's 
do.  You  go  over  this  place  carefully  and  see  that  we 
leave  no  incriminating  evidence  behind,  and  I'll  make  a 
trip  to  the  roof  and  see  if  a  light  is  burning  in  the  labo- 
ratory. If  he  is  there  he  will  be  likely  to  stay  there,  as 
you  say,  until  we  get  back  from  the  meeting." 

Fischer  assented  to  this  arrangement,  but  cautioned 
Dare  to  be  careful,  and  not  to  remain  long. 

The  storm  had  ceased,  and  the  damp,  cool  air  was 
refreshing  to  Dare  when  he  gained  the  roof.  He  took  a 
cautious  glance  around  and  then  advanced  to  the  edge. 


THE    TRAGEDY  227 

The  skylights  of  the  laboratory  were  dark.  A  tree  shut 
off  his  view  to  the  right,  but  he  thought  he  heard  a  noise 
on  the  gravelled  walk.  It  was  likely  one  of  the  stable- 
men, but  he  listened  intently.  It  sounded  as  if  some 
heavy  object  were  being  dragged  toward  the  laboratory, 
and  once  Dare  imagined  that  he  saw  the  indistinct  figure 
of  a  man. 

The  noise  ceased,  and  the  watcher  was  about  to  return 
to  the  basement,  when,  with  a  flash,  the  skylight  glowed 
with  the  translucent  radiance  from  a  cluster  of  electric 
lamps ! 

Dare  could  hardly  restrain  an  exclamation  of  joy  as 
he  gazed  on  this  sure  evidence  that  their  victim  stood  at 
last  above  the  mine.  As  he  watched,  one  of  the  windows 
was  raised  slightly,  and  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  human 
figure.  Dare  waited  no  longer,  but  hastened  back  to  the 
basement. 

"  He  is  there !  "  he  exclaimed,  waving  his  arms  with 
a  gesture  of  joy. 

"  Don't  talk  so  loud,"  whispered  Fischer,  a  grim  smile 
at  the  thought  of  coming  revenge  on  his  pale  features. 
"  I  told  you  he'd  be  there  to-night !  " 

"  Let's  do  it  now !  "  cried  the  artist.  "  Tell  you  what 
we'll  do !  You  leave  here  at  once  and  go  direct  to  the 
meeting.  You're  expected  there,  and  I'm  not.  No  one 
will  miss  me.  You  can  be  there  in  ten  minutes.  Look 
at  your  watch  when  you  get  there,  and  go  to  the  platform 
where  everyone  can  see  you.  I  will  wait  half  an  hour, 
or  better  still,  an  hour  or  more.  That  makes  a  perfect 


228  THE   BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

alibi  for  you,  and  no  one  will  ever  suspect  me — and  it 
wouldn't  make  any  difference  if  they  did.  That's  the 
scheme!  Strip  off  your  overalls  and  blouse;  I'll  take 
care  of  them.  Depend  on  me,  old  fellow;  I  never  was 
more  calm  in  my  life." 

Dare  saw  that  his  plan  met  with  some  favor  in  the 
eyes  of  his  companion. 

"  I  wanted  to  light  that  fuse  myself,"  Fischer  said, 
after  a  pause.  "  It's  due  to  me  to  do  it,  but  really  I 
don't  suppose  it  makes  any  difference.  I " 

"  Of  course  it  doesn't  make  any  difference,"  eagerly 
interrupted  Dare.  "  This  is  no  time  for  sentiment  of 
that  kind.  You  owe  it  to  Annieta  to  take  every  possible 
care  of  yourself.  Haven't  I  stood  by  you  from  the  start  ? 
Let  me  have  my  way  in  this  one  thing.  It  means  only 
waiting  an  hour,  and  the  striking  of  a  match.  You  will 
be  safe,  and  I'll  be  three  blocks  away  before  that  fuse 
burns  to  its  end.  Say  yes,  old  man !  " 

"  I  hate  to  do  it,  but  perhaps  it's  the  best  way,"  he 
said,  and  Dare  embraced  him  and  danced  with  delight. 

The  draftsman  removed  his  overalls  and  blouse, 
washed  his  hands,  cleaned  his  shoes,  and  made  himself 
as  presentable  as  possible.  Dare  reminded  him  that  on  a 
muddy  night  soiled  shoes  would  not  be  noticed,  and  when 
Fischer  had  completed  his  toilet  his  friend  asserted  that 
he  would  pass  muster  anywhere. 

They  had  removed  most  of  the  tools  the  night  before, 
and  were  making  a  final  careful  inspection  of  the  prem- 


THE    TRAGEDY  229 

ises,  when  Fischer  stopped,  laid  his  hand  on  Dare's 
shoulder  and  placed  his  finger  to  his  lips. 

The  rear  gate  slammed  and  the  next  instant  there  was 
a  thundering  rap  on  the  basement  door ! 

The  two  anarchists  looked  one  at  the  other  with  terror- 
stricken  eyes  and  ashen  faces.  The  noise  redoubled,  and 
with  it  were  hoarse  and  angry  cries  and  the  straining  of 
the  door  as  strong  men  threw  their  weights  against  it 

"  The  police !  The  police !  "  gasped  Fischer.  "  My 
God,  Wallace,  what  shall  we  do  ?  " 

They  stood  like  men  frozen  in  a  trance,  gazing  into 
each  other's  eyes.  The  creaking  told  them  that  the  heavy 
door  was  giving  way  before  the  terrific  assault  made 
on  it. 

Fischer  was  the  one  to  come  to  his  senses. 

"  This  way,  this  way !  "  he  cried,  grasping  Dare  by 
the  shoulder  and  starting  for  the  stairs  leading  to  the 
upper  floor.  "  To  the  roof !  To  the  roof,  man,  and  over 
the  buildings  is  our  only  chance !  " 

He  had  dragged  the  seemingly  dazed  artist  to  the  foot 
of  the  stairs  when  he  broke  fiercely  away. 

"  No !  no !  By  God,  no !  "  Dare  yelled.  "  Police  or 
no  police,  I'll  see  this  thing  through!  Let  go  of 

me, !  "  and  with  an  oath  he  pushed  Fischer 

from  him  with  the  strength  of  a  maniac. 

Hurled  back  by  this  unexpected  attack,  Fischer  fell 
over  a  flooring  joist  and  lay  for  a  moment  stunned  by 
the  force  of  his  fall.  Dare  did  not  even  look  at  him,  but 
grabbed  a  candle  and  plunged  into  the  tunnel. 


230  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

It  is  likely  that  Dare  reached  the  foundation  of  the 
laboratory  before  Fischer  regained  his  feet. 

Jake  Stark  had  kicked  in  one  of  the  narrow  basement 
windows  and  was  laboriously  crawling  in  when  he  saw 
Fischer  dash  to  the  mouth  of  the  tunnel  and  disappear 
in  its  depths.  A  moment  later  the  door  gave  way  with 
a  crash  and  Long  Bill  and  Annieta  were  in  the  dark 
recesses  of  the  basement. 

Fischer  had  taken  the  only  remaining  candle,  and 
hardly  a  ray  of  light  came  from  the  shattered  window 
and  the  basement  doorway. 

Those  who  lived  through  the  horror  of  the  few  minutes 
which  followed  have  not  been  able  to  give  a  coherent 
account  of  what  happened.  That  their  statements 
under  oath  in  the  great  trial  of  weeks  later  were  con- 
flicting is  not  to  be  wondered. 

They  groped  and  stumbled  in  that  awful  pit,  its 
dank  air  fetid  as  if  death  already  had  breathed  of  it; 
they  clutched  blindly  at  the  unseen,  conscious  that  some 
great  tragedy  was  impending,  yet  powerless  to  prevent 
it.  The  cries  and  moans  of  Annieta  as  she  called  to  her 
father,  the  curses  and  conflicting  orders  of  the  men  as 
they  staggered  in  the  encompassing  gloom,  the  ghastly 
look  on  their  faces  when  seen  by  the  light  of  a  match 
struck  by  Long  Bill,  the  black  silence  of  the  mouth  of 
the  tunnel — these  and  other  horrors  came  to  them  in 
that  frightful  interval. 

A  circle  of  light  showed  at  the  basement  door,  and  a 
patrolman  flashed  the  welcome  glow  of  his  night  lantern 


THE    TRAGEDY  23 z 

on  the  huddled  group.  Three  other  officers  followed 
him,  and  with  stern  commands  they  covered  Long  Bill 
and  Jake  Stark  with  revolvers  and  ordered  them  to 
throw  up  their  hands. 

There  were  expostulations,  attempted  explanations 
and  a  scene  which  would  have  been  humorous  had  it  not 
been  the  prelude  to  a  grim  tragedy.  Of  those  near  the 
mouth  of  the  tunnel,  none  knew  but  vaguely  what  had 
happened,  or  what  was  threatened. 

"  I  tell  you  he  went  in  there !  "  shouted  Jake  Stark 
to  the  puzzled  but  determined  officer  who  faced  him. 

"  Who  went  in  where  ? "  demanded  the  patrolman 
who  now  assumed  the  leadership. 

"  Fischer,"  declared  the  irate  captain.  "  I  saw  him 
crawl  into  that  hole,  but  blamed  if  I'm  goin'  after 
him!" 

The  officer  directed  the  rays  of  his  lantern  to  the  mouth 
of  the  tunnel,  and  as  the  light  fell  on  it  Annieta  gave  a 
wild  cry  and  darted  into  it. 

"  There's  papa !  "  she  cried,  her  voice  thrilled  with 
fear  and  love  as  she  shaded  her  eyes  and  peered  into 
the  cavern.  "  He  is  carrying  Mr.  Dare !  Come  to  me, 
papa  dear!  Oh,  won't  someone  help  him?  He  has 
fallen.  Papa!  Papa!" 

"Look  out,  Miss,  I'll  help  him!"  growled  Jake 
Stark,  turning  his  back  to  the  armed  officer  and  pushing 
past  her.  "  What  in  hell  are  you  tryin'  tew  do,  Fischer  ? 
Come  out  of  there  an'  be  damned  quick  erbout ! 

There  was  a  heave  and  a  shudder  as  if  the  earth  at 


232 


THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 


their  feet  had  been  struck  by  a  mighty  hammer.  With 
the  muffled  roar  came  an  ear-splitting  crash,  a  stream  of 
white  flame  like  that  at  the  mouth  of  a  cannon,  a  rush 
of  air  carrying  with  it  splinters  and  broken  timbers,  a 
rocking,  paralyzing  concussion — and  then  silence. 

Deane  was  at  the  top  of  the  basement  steps  when  the 
dynamite  exploded.  The  upsweep  of  air  hurled  him 
back  for  an  instant,  but  he  did  not  hesitate.  The 
wrecked  shoring  at  the  mouth  of  the  tunnel  was  ablaze, 
and  by  its  light  he  saw  several  figures  motionless  on  the 
floor  of  the  basement. 

The  flames  had  just  ignited  the  skirt  of  Annieta 
Fischer,  who  lay  with  her  head  and  shoulders  on  the 
outer  bank  of  the  tunnel.  Deane  smothered  the  blaze 
with  his  hand  and  dragged  her  limp  form  a  few  feet 
away.  Just  beyond  where  the  poor  girl  had  been  hurled, 
he  saw  the  massive  form  of  Jake  Stark,  and  with  a  sick- 
ening fear  in  his  heart  he  bent  over  him. 

As  Deane  caught  the  body  under  the  arms  and  started 
to  drag  it  beyond  the  reach  of  the  crackling  and  spread- 
ing flames,  the  old  smuggler  groaned  and  opened  his 
eyes. 

"  Father !  Father !  "  cried  Deane,  "  are  you  badly 
hurt?" 

The  old  man  struggled  bravely  to  get  to  his  feet,  and 
with  Deane's  desperate  aid  crawled  and  staggered  well 
away  from  the  mouth  of  the  tunnel.  He  looked  at  his 
rescuer  but  did  not  know  him. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Bill  ?  "  he  asked  weakly,  grop- 


THE    TRAGEDY  233 

ing  wildly  with  his  hands.  "  Say,  Bill,  what's  hap- 
pened?" 

His  legs  trembled,  his  head  dropped  and  he  fell  back 
unconscious  into  Deane's  arms,  who  laid  him  gently  on 
the  floor,  not  knowing  if  he  were  dead  or  alive.  He 
plunged  again  into  the  tunnel. 

But  others  had  come  to  his  aid.  Long  Bill  and  one 
of  the  officers  had  recovered,  and  were  tugging  at  two 
lifeless  figures.  The  clothes  of  these  dread  and  shape- 
less objects  were  ablaze,  their  faces  and  hands  were 
black  where  the  white  flame  had  blistered  them,  and 
lacerated  where  the  flying  gravel  had  riddled  them. 
Upon  them  had  been  belched  the  full  horizontal  force  of 
the  explosive. 

August  Fischer  and  Wallace  Dare  had  paid  the 
penalty. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

IN  THE  EUINS  OF  THE  LABORATORY 

SHORTLY  before  the  thunder-storm  one  of  the  hostlers 
insisted  on  seeing  Secretary  Peters. 

"  I  don't  want  to  bother  you,  sor,"  began  this  honest 
man,  "  but  there's  somethin'  wrong  goin'  on  in  the  house 
just  beyant  the  stables — the  wan  on  the  other  side  of  the 
wall." 

"  What  have  you  seen,  Michael  ?  " 

"  I  don't  exactly  know,  sor,"  hesitated  that  employe. 
"  Perhaps  it  isn't  nothin',  but  I  don't  like  the  look  of 
it.  Two  or  three  times  lately  I've  seen  strange-lookin' 
men  sneakin'  'round  the  back  way,  an'  that's  the  last  I 
could  see  of  them,  sor,  on  account  of  the  fence  to  the 
backyard.  I  thought  ye  ought  to  know,  sor." 

"  Thank  you,  Michael,  I'll  look  into  it,"  said  Peters. 

This  recalled  vividly  to  his  mind  the  two  figures  he 
had  seen  on  the  roof  of  this  same  building  early  on  Tues- 
day morning  .two  days  before.  Peters  was  an  excellent 
secretary,  but  he  was  a  timid  man,  and  little  inclined  to 
act  on  his  own  initiative.  He  felt  a  sense  of  helpless- 
ness in  the  absence  of  his  domineering  employer.  He 
was  tempted  to  call  on  Detective  Jacoby,  but  it  was  a 


IN   THE   RUINS   OF   THE   LABOR ATORY     235 

greater  responsibility  than  he  had  ever  assumed  before. 

After  thinking  it  over,  his  fears  prevailed,  and  he 
decided  to  take  the  risk  of  offending  Mr.  Buckingham. 
He  therefore  called  Jacoby  on  the  telephone. 

That  gentleman  responded  that  he  was  still  indis- 
posed, but  that  he  would  come  if  it  was  absolutely  neces- 
sary. Peters  assured  him  of  the  urgency  of  the  case, 
and  the  detective  agreed  to  come  at  once.  The  cause  of 
this  alarm  was  not  discussed  over  the  wire. 

The  storm  delayed  Jacoby  nearly  an  hour,  but  he  was 
admitted  to  the  mansion  shortly  after  Annieta  Fischer 
had  rang  the  bell  and  vainly  pleaded  for  admission. 

Peters  nervously  told  of  seeing  the  figures  on  the  roof 
of  the  vacant  building,  also  of  what  the  hostler  had  in- 
formed him. 

"  Something  is  going  on,"  he  said,  "  and  I  should 
have  told  Mr.  Buckingham  before  he  went  away.  Not 
fifteen  minutes  ago  a  woman  rang  the  bell  and  hung 
screaming  at  the  gates.  It  seems  uncanny,  and  I  thought 
it  my  duty  to  let  you  know  about  it." 

"  You  acted  wisely,"  returned  Jacoby.  "  Have  you 
any  idea  where  Mr.  Buckingham  is  ? "  He  wished  to 
make  sure  that  he  alone  shared  that  secret. 

"  Not  the  slightest.  He  often  goes  away  like  this, 
but  I  usually  go  with  him  when  he  makes  long  trips. 
He  may  come  home  to-night,  and  he  may  stay  away  a 
week.  He  is  a  very  peculiar  man,  Mr.  Jacoby,  as  you 
may  have  noticed.  But  he  is  a  remarkable  man,  a  very 
remarkable  man !  " 


236  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

"  He  is,  indeed,"  admitted  Jacoby.  "  Now  take  me 
up  to  the  room  where  you  saw  those  men  that  morning 
you  told  about,"  he  ordered,  feeling  free  in  the  mansion 
for  the  first  time. 

"  This  way,  Mr.  Jacoby,"  said  Peters,  and  he  led  him 
up  two  flights  of  stairs  to  his  room  in  the  rear  of  the 
building.  He  softly  raised  a  window  and  threw  back 
the  curtains,  and  as  he  looked  out  he  uttered  an  invol- 
untary exclamation  of  surprise  and  delight. 

"  Look !  Look !  "  he  whispered,  pointing  to  the  labo- 
ratory. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Buckingham  is  there  now !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  Because  there  are  lights  in  the  laboratory,"  he  softly 
explained.  "  No  one  else  has  a  key  to  it,  and  no  one 
would  dare  try  to  enter  it.  I'm  glad  he's  back.  Hadn't 
you  better  go,  Mr.  Jacoby  ?  " 

"  Not  yet  Now  tell  me  just  where  you  saw.  those 
men." 

"  Do  you  see  that  tree  ?  "  asked  Peters.  "  They  stood 
to  the  left  of  it  on  this  edge  of  the  roof,  and  I  saw  them 
just  as  plain  as " 

Through  the  halls  there  sounded  the  insistent  ring 
of  a  bell. 

"  It's  that  woman  again !  "  Peters  whispered,  every 
nerve  tingling. 

"  Perhaps  it's  Mr.  Buckingham,"  suggested  Jacoby, 
who  saw  nothing  strange  that  a  bell  should  ring. 


IN   THE  RUINS    OF   THE   LABORATORY     237 

1  No,  no !  Mr.  Buckingham  carries  keys  to  both  gates. 
Come  with  me,  please." 

They  hastened  down  the  stairs  in  time  to  find  the 
butler  standing  undecided  by  the  door. 

"  Let  me  attend  to  this,"  said  Jacoby.  "  Come  with 
me  and  see  if  this  is  the  same  one  that  rang  before." 

The  servant  opened  the  door,  and  the  three  men 
walked  down  the  steps  and  to  the  gate,  Peters  bringing 
up  the  rear.  Jacoby  instantly  recognized  the  one  who 
stood  there. 

"  Is  Mr.  Buckingham  in  ?  "  demanded  Deane. 

"  Give  me  your  card  and  I  will  see,  sir,"  said  the  dis- 
creet detective. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  see  him,"  quickly  responded  Deane, 
gazing  with  some  amazement  at  the  three  men  who  con- 
fronted him.  "  Tell  him  that  he  is  in  danger !  Tell 
him  to  remain  within  doors  to-night,  and  not  to  venture 
out  under  any  circumstances.  Tell  him " 

"  What  is  the  reason  for ?  " 

"  I  have  no  time  to  explain !  He  may  be  killed  if  he 
ventures  out !  " 

Deane  had  turned  and  started  away  before  he  fin- 
ished these  words,  and  the  three  who  listened  to  them 
were  too  dumfounded  to  call  after  him.  For  a  moment 
they  stood  looking  into  one  another's  faces.  The  private 
secretary  was  in  an  agony  of  terror. 

"  Come  to  the  back  of  the  house  and  call  Mr.  Buck- 
ingham," ordered  Jacoby,  the  first  to  recover  his  self- 
possession. 


238  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

"  !No,  no  I  "  whined  Peters.  "  I  will  go  in  and  speak 
to  him  on  the  telephone." 

"  Go  ahead,"  said  the  disgusted  detective.  "  I'm 
going  around  the  back  way." 

Jacoby  cautiously  started  along  the  winding  path 
which  circled  the  mansion  to  the  right.  The  message 
delivered  by  Deane  was  a  most  astounding  one,  but  there 
was  no  cowardly  streak  in  Jacoby,  no  matter  what  else 
might  be  alleged  against  him. 

His  mind  was  active  during  the  thirty  seconds  it  took 
him  to  pass  to  the  rear  of  the  mansion.  There  could  be 
no  doubt  that  there  was  a  plot  on  foot  to  kill  Bucking- 
ham. How  did  it  happen  that  Deane  knew  of  it  ?  What 
was  his  connection  with  it  ?  Why  his  mad  haste  to  get 
away? 

Jacoby  was  certain  that  Deane  did  not  know  him,  and 
it  was  unlikely  that  he  had  met  Peters.  Had  Deane 
taken  part  in  the  conspiracy  and  repented  of  it  at  the 
last  moment  ? 

It  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that  the  prowlers  about 
the  vacant  building  were  lying  in  wait  for  Mr.  Buck- 
ingham. Had  the  millionaire  learned  of  this?  Was 
this  why  he  had  turned  detective  ?  Why  had  they  not 
killed  him  a  few  minutes  before  when  he  entered  the 
yard  to  pass  into  the  laboratory  ?  Probably  his  disguise 
had  saved  him.  It  looked  as  if  there  was  desperate  work 
ahead,  and  Jacoby  cursed  the  illness  which  had  forced 
him  to  idleness. 

He  turned  the  corner  and  came  in  sight  of  the  labo- 


IN    THE   RUINS    OF    THE   LABORATORY     239 

ratory.  From  this  point  he  could  not  see  if  lights  were 
still  burning  in  the  little  brick  hut.  For  a  moment  he 
stood  undecided  gazing  at  that  mysterious  structure,  and 
then 

From  its  glass  roof  tore  forth  a  blast  of  flame ;  a  roar- 
ing, thundering,  quivering  blast  which  lifted  him  and 
hurled  him  back  into  a  bed  of  flowers.  He  was  dazed 
and  gasping  for  breath,  but  he  did  not  lose  consciousness 
for  a  moment.  The  mansion  rocked  in  the  concussion, 
and  he  heard  the  plate  glass  shiver  and  fall  in  showers 
to  the  ground.  A  piece  of  masonry  fell  near  him,  he 
heard  the  whistle  of  other  missiles,  and  then  the  cries 
and  steps  of  men  running  to  and  from  the  scene  of  the 
explosion. 

Jacoby  struggled  to  his  feet.  The  wrecked  laboratory 
was  a  furnace  of  roaring  flames,  and  the  garden  in  which 
he  stood  was  light  as  day.  The  corner  of  the  laboratory 
to  the  north  of  him  had  been  torn  away,  but  most  of  the 
walls  stood  erect — a  shell  within  which  was  a  crackling, 
raging  torch  of  fire  reaching  far  up  into  the  air. 

Already  the  garage  and  the  stables  were  aflame,  but 
that  did  not  concern  the  detective.  He  ran  toward  the 
building,  but  when  fifty  feet  away  the  intense  heat  drove 
him  back.  Several  men  ran  from  the  rear  door  of  the 
stable,  amongst  them  the  hostler  who  had  warned  Secre- 
tary Peters  earlier  in  the  evening. 

"  Was  Mr.  Buckingham  in  there  ?"  demanded  Jacoby, 
pointing  to  the  furnace  with  one  hand  and  shading  his 
eyes  with  the  other. 


24o  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

"  I  think  he  was,  sor,"  gasped  the  man,  who  had  been 
hurled  the  full  length  of  the  garage.  "  I  saw  the  lights 
go  up  not  fifteen  minutes  ago." 

"  Any  of  your  men  killed  ? "  indicating  the  stables, 
from  which  the  horses  were  being  dragged. 

"  I  think  not,  sor,"  said  the  dazed  hostler. 

"  Open  those  gates !  "  commanded  Jacoby.  "  Wake 
up,  man !  I'll  send  in  an  alarm !  " 

Thus  aroused,  Michael  dashed  past  the  burning  labo- 
ratory and  opened  the  rear  gates.  When  Jacoby  gained 
admittance  to  the  mansion  he  learned  that  Peters  had 
already  sent  in  the  alarm.  The  first  engine  was  clang- 
ing down  the  street  when  Jacoby  regained  the  yard,  and 
the  advance  line  of  idlers  and  spectators  had  already 
poured  through  the  opened  gates. 

To  Jacoby's  great  relief  a  detachment  of  police  ar- 
rived from  the  adjacent  station,  who  drove  the  mob  from 
the  yard  and  gave  the  firemen  every  opportunity.  The 
released  and  frightened  horses  trampled  down  the 
gardens,  one  automobile  had  been  rolled  into  a  crocus 
bed,  and  another  jammed  into  a  flowering  hedge,  while 
the  distracted  servants  looked  helplessly  on  or  were  busy 
taking  their  personal  effects  from  the  threatened  man- 
sion. 

Dolly  had  called  on  Alice  in  the  afternoon,  and  the 
two  cousins  dined  together.  Alice  had  induced  Dolly  to 
spend  the  evening  with  her,  and  during  and  after  the 
storm  these  fair  girls  chatted  over  the  details  of  their 
coming  visit  to  the  sea-shore,  unconscious  of  the  grim 


IN  TWfc&UtNX  OJb 


the  impending  traged^  !  )i  ^BH  JoimfiD  I     !  rfO  "     .orarft 
QcBcffijEfoiiaMAefriHift^^ 

when  the  explosion  CK?cffr!r»^t9^[Ac^tjt]»J'^l{)Vgfclrt^ft 
kfciise  had  ^de«-«trai«M;i^r9ligl{taiug^o[J)ftlJyfwftei 
to  the  floor  and  showed>Bigiteo()£[ffttnj(if^| 
though  much  frightened,  attempted  to  reassure  her. 


ifaiaflobk-^AQHDfes  twerfelstifewttr.wilfo 


pensfabirnsifo  lo  Ji  nr  sonssstq  oilJ  oJ  onb  sr/^ 


in  its  horror  and  misery.    He  was  waving  his  hanclf  #$4 


OTOVA  goIJuJa  orlt  OVCK/B 
•  . 


Tbe: 

orlt  ni 


sll    .f>9fliBtio58U  n9i(t  etosl  9fft  ifJi 


TO  &** 

B  lo 
"  Your  father  was  in  the  laboratory  !  "  he  faltered, 


242  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

looking  for  an  instant  into  her  eyes  and  then  averting 
them.  "  Oh !  I  cannot  say  it !  " 

"  Speak !  "  she  cried,  grasping  him  by  the  arm.  "  Tell 
me  what  has  happened,  Peters !  " 

"  He  has  been  blown  to  pieces,  Miss !  "  and  with- 
out a  cry  he  sank  limp  to  the  floor. 

The  wall  between  the  laboratory  and  the  garage  had 
been  blown  in  by  the  force  of  the  explosion,  and  before 
the  first  stream  of  water  had  been  thrown  on  these  two 
buildings  they  were  a  mass  of  fire.  It  was  apparent 
from  the  first  that  the  ferocity  of  the  flames  in  the  labo- 
ratory was  due  to  the  presence  in  it  of  chemicals  or 
highly  inflammable  oils,  and  not  until  they  were  con- 
sumed did  the  water  thrown  on  it  have  the  slightest 
effect. 

It  was  soon  ascertained  that  the  four  men  who  slept 
above  the  stables  were  comparatively  uninjured.  These 
brave  men  rallied  from  the  shock  and  at  the  risk  of  their 
lives  led  out  the  horses,  and  after  the  early  confusion 
tethered  them  in  the  southeast  corner  of  the  gardens. 

Fire  also  broke  out  in  the  vacant  building  to  the  east 
of  the  wall,  but  that  was  soon  under  control. 

A  detective  on  the  regular  force  hurriedly  acquainted 
Jacoby  with  the  facts  then  ascertained.  He  told  him  of 
the  tunnel,  of  the  discovery  of  the  dead  bodies  of  Fischer 
and  Dare,  also  of  the  arrest  of  Long  Bill  and  the  escape 
of  a  heavily  bearded  man  who  had  been  injured,  but  who 


IN   THE  RUINS    OF    THE   LABORATORY     243 

had  been  taken  away  by  a  young  man  who  had  been 
identified  as  Deane.  These  two  would  undoubtedly  be 
arrested  later.  A  young  woman,  supposed  to  be  the 
daughter  of  Fischer,  had  been  badly  hurt  in  the  explo- 
sion, but  would  probably  live. 

The  whole  of  the  conspiracy  stood  revealed  to  Jacoby, 
but  he  could  not  join  in  the  search  for  the  guilty  ones 
until  the  glowing  laboratory  yielded  up  its  ghastly  secret 
Was  it  the  pyre  of  the  body  of  Buckingham  ?  Was  his 
charred  corpse  within  the  retort  formed  by  those  white 
hot  walls  ? 

Those  were  the  questions  which  held  him  fascinated 
on  the  near  edge  of  the  heat  zone. 

But  he  must  wait  until  the  plunging  streams  of  water 
had  done  their  work,  and  in  that  interval  he  told  the 
detective  the  salient  facts  of  the  conspiracy  as  he  under- 
stood it.  He  told  of  Buckingham's  suspicions  against 
Deane,  of 'his  heated  interview  with  him,  of  the  death  of 
Fischer's  son  and  wife,  of  Deane's  advance  of  money  to 
Fischer,  and  then  he  described  The  Well  where  all  of 
these  characters  met  and  doubtless  conspired. 

He  was  talking  with  Stirner,  one  of  the  best  men  on 
the  official  force,  and  they  had  helped  one  another  on 
several  occasions,  and  he  gave  him  all  of  the  essential 
facts  in  his  possession  except  one.  Jacoby  did  not  tell 
Stirner  that  Buckingham  had  been  doing  some  detective 
work  on  his  own  account.  In  the  first  place  he  had  no 
right  to  tell  this.  His  employer  had  confided  it  to  him 


Vl\ 


done  their  work 


e 
idthin    of  <^8^vnHa8rfcGQ.1[tfe€ltafe  'bf 


obtained,  and  Jacoby  edged  near  and  nearer 
kteamiHg'iwailfi  bt'dhcf'Jaborator^o;; 
fire  in  the  garage  and^stablesfwdS 

stttmffire. 


^4  mrorkfoifciTp^Bb%atis)n^faitd  the  two  took  oHiiig-e  tefiltiie 
^ruegHEsntaskjar/s  a^rafidgniiDi/SL  lo  bktf  sH  .ji  booja 
lo  Ihseb  i^obre^ildiffi^iIlJard'^'eiiteB^ilii^ 
(tfetterong  BcidsnssaBs  tiietifiudbisa  Joiiew  the;  aeorerf.-fy!Efeeffir 
testtfilsTtolrd  fteffi  thial  aerftk)was-:thereJt 
heard  theifcot^ai^s^^o^dofch^istatking-'o 
4wid:-gnete&flfl.  stibfe  ttriftfa)  ^rafe'di^hjdjied  -j^gafi&tit  akapeHhat 
^eyoifli^bt  beonfistflkdnbBif  ^orft  bnjj  ^9010!  Ifii 


.9iio  Jqgoxg  rrora3933oq  aid  ni  atoel 
aoT«  bfie  iiacoasl^oietdDia  tbe(trflgedj& 
Mmes[qEv6idJd  kiatvalreetigmiaed  rtbe)  ebinred^toni 
jii  fesis4:ia»  ioniethin 
the  soul  of  a  human  being. 


IN   THE   RUINS   OF   THE  LABOR  ATORY     245 

One  conclusion  was  inevitable  —  it  was  the  corpse  of 
Amos  Buckingham!  Though  cold  in  death,  August 
Fischer  and  Wallace  Dare  had  not  been  cheated  of  their 


revenge  ! 


xix 


3HT 


o/b  ol  Tjnbeem  essm  odj  moil  obn  bliw  odj  xl 
JBdw  snBoQ  IIoJ  oJ  bgJqmottfi  BtoinnA  .noien/mi  niBdgni 
<b9ej/inoo  ^Ibse  eev/  lii^  looq  oriT  .bomfidl  bctl  oils 
oieCt  ifirli  Jqsoxo  gniflJon  io  ovbieoq  scv/  oils  lavooiom 
olni  oJimBir^b  nir.Jnoo  o^  bogoqqiJg  ogB^ocq  B  no^fi)  bfiil 
eiit  i£9fl  gnibliud  incocv  B  lo  }fl9fli93ed  ad} 


bsonivnoo  SBV/  oxiBoQ  ^ioJe  Lloi  ^Ibohnnl  i9d  nio-tl 
lo  djB9b  oih  §flittolq  OTOV/  9'ifiG 

eiJO9no-ri9  vhoiJu  nc  lr>  bovine  9il  ii/d  ti 
word  9fl  ifid}  boiobignoo  od  l&ijm  Jl    .boiiiora  lig 
sill  io  10  tejidcil  etmfiiigabfo0&  io  ^nirltou  10 
i  JrfguodJ  sib  bxie  ,vio^iodcl  oilt  lo 
ir/900  ion  bib  vlluiirtiui  tli  ot  Isiuiuj  B  gub  bail  9i«Q  biia 

.mi  if  oJ 

b9nnBlq  ^odi  Juib  bnim  ehl  ni  iduob  on  8BV7 
9/1  bns  t6tfniod  boJ60jr?ua  eJimairtQ    a 

fiv  9i!J  gflieu  9iov7  ^sdj  isd*  bobiosb 
.enoiJBi9qo  lo  9g«d  B  bnfi  noi}Bvi9fedo  lo  sofilq  a  ea 
Ifidi  —  bgnoeBsi  ^Usoigol  9d  oe  —  eldfidoiq  Jon  BBW 
bsdiooe  9d  bns  tedmod  sib  boiouilenoo  J9^  barf 


CHAPTER  XIX 

BEHIND  THE  BARS 

IN  the  wild  ride  from  the  mass  meeting  to  the  Buck- 
ingham mansion,  Annieta  attempted  to  tell  Deane  what 
she  had  learned.  The  poor  girl  was  sadly  confused, 
moreover  she  was  positive  of  nothing  except  that  Dare 
had  taken  a  package  supposed  to  contain  dynamite  into 
the  basement  of  a  vacant  building  near  the  Buckingham 
mansion. 

From  her  hurriedly  told  story,  Deane  was  convinced 
that  Fischer  and  Dare  were  plotting  the  death  of  Buck- 
ingham, but  he  arrived  at  an  utterly  erroneous  diagnosis 
of  their  method.  It  must  be  considered  that  he  knew 
little  or  nothing  of  Buckingham's  habits,  or  of  the  prox- 
imity of  the  laboratory,  and  the  thought  that  Fischer 
and  Dare  had  dug  a  tunnel  to  it,  naturally  did  not  occur 
to  him. 

But  there  was  no  doubt  in  his  mind  that  they  planned 
to  kill  Buckingham.  Dynamite  suggested  bombs,  and  he 
quickly  decided  that  they  were  using  the  vacant  house 
as  a  place  of  observation  and  a  base  of  operations.  It 
was  not  probable — so  he  logically  reasoned — that  they 
had  yet  constructed  the  bombs,  and  he  soothed  Annieta 


BEHIND    THE  BARS  a47 

by  assuring  her  that  it  would  be  an  easy  task  to  save  her 
father  from  himself. 

Before  the  swiftly  moving  carriage  had  neared  the 
Buckingham  mansion,  he  had  mastered  the  situation  to 
his  own  satisfaction.  He  felt  sure  that  the  millionaire 
manufacturer  was  in  no  serious  danger,  and  his  first 
sensations  of  alarm  and  horror  changed  to  bitterness 
against  Fischer  and  Dare,  against  himself  and  all  the 
world. 

Why  did  Fate  thus  pursue  and  harass  him?  What 
had  he  done  that  this  final  ignomy  should  be  put  on 
him? 

How  strange  his  mission  that  night !  He  had  left  a 
cheering  multitude — for  what  purpose?  To  warn  the 
father  of  the  woman  he  loved,  that  men  whom  he  had 
befriended  were  plotting  his  assassination!  It  was  not 
enough  that  he  had  surrendered  his  hope  for  Alice's 
love ;  it  was  not  enough  that  a  past  for  which  he  was  not 
to  blame  had  arisen  to  blight  his  career — he  must  be 
smirched  with  the  unutterable  disgrace  of  association 
with  dynamiters;  he  must  be  classed  and  reviled  as  a 
patron  of  anarchy !  Would  this  satiate  his  Nemesis  ? 

He  heard  the  sobbing  of  the  innocent  girl  who  sat  by 
his  side,  felt  the  throbbing  of  her  body  as  the  lurching 
of  the  carriage  brought  them  in  contact,  and  all  the  pity 
in  his  heart  went  out  to  her.  His  misery  was  great,  but 
what  was  it  compared  with  the  burden  which  had  fallen 
on  her  frail  shoulders?  He  took  her  hand  in  his  and 
pressed  it  gently. 


THE 


best,"  he  said,  and  at  the  touch  o:#Ihi«nhaiBib>rintbfiiB& 
£rfih<l33$ifls  V®fc@sheil«ok|24rHpran'4l^iMfed 
i8  gill  Loi9J8Bm  bfiil  oil  <noignBm 


hsfe 


he  shouted.    "  There  may  be  trouble  there." 
ofBeerfe  fiMd^ife 

7;moir§i  Isnft  eirll  ^BI!^  snob  91! 
Annieta  looked  at  him  with  startled  eyes,  and 
%iiak94)QiIdid-  irfgin  Sufcfehpofeeikneiri 
miMnte  later  lh«P^®»^stf  dared  obaeil:Htidl  the  earriagfe 
a«)di(Jd«tt)StoJjiii)They<^e»fe  iairjjatgcc&th®  Eucki 
niggfiggfi  giil  gnijiolq  91977  Bgbnoiilgd 
a  IH1  be  itack  in  «  minnter"  he  sfiiflj  dprihgisn^  aui  and 
aeteningfialtM'^artete^gxsq  B  IBI!)  rl^uono  ion  gfivr  ji  •  970! 
ur  iintdrvievc-f  ratfair 


oda<?hmfiimipaiiitedjl» 
f  ollowiiq 

the<)pe4ing 
thet  B*fckii»^itiri 
HB  LfiB  ^ouJnoo  ni  mQiIl  irfguoid  s^BiTTfiD  grit  io 


aar, 

ni  bnBiI  igd  ikxrf  gH     ?  eioJblrioiIe  liuii  191!  no 
When  Deane  had  helped  to  drag  the 


held  possession  of  him.  .ovora  Jon  bib  Jud 

oiiBeeimikt  ^BkeohkGfdthentx'^Ikoei'w&bi'ediiariDjhfies 
could  be  attended  to.  f  Hfdiad)nx>[  doubt  iltat  AaxGetacurfBa 


rugged  form  then  lay  at  the  edge  of  the  pilqnrii  flicte 

igori  oxiBeCE  taBteni  JIB  tol 


idHtb    tthi  .aaiii^  ;  : 

and 

Dare.  "  !  "07;  iol  Jicw  in  j  9191!  iorf  v 

liim  font  ,fflffs 


legs,  and  they  moved  swiftly  up  the  stairs  and  <!•  >\vn  tlio 

lighrteleidylttutaiiihis 
id  notieelits  weigh*' 
B^}14K)iHt 
'na*t©flb«l  stit  thwlfftreeh;  t^Uiit 


IliJa  oiil  li—  hi    boti/ni 


i&theui  jiistlai-iiertoiii  Jionig  Kti 
reached  the  sidewalk.     It  was  difficult  to  liftlflflpAaii} 

idlifl:  snol 


in  Bill  !  "  .sonfilr/dmB  HB  HBO  oJ 

oH  9flo  aili  lo  siiraB  9fli  isvo  Insd  icIiBS  srlT 


25o  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

The  tall  sailor  wiped  the  perspiration  from  his  face 
but  did  not  move. 

"  Come  on !  "  cried  Deane.  "  Come  on,  there's  no 
time  to  lose.  He  may  be  dying !  " 

"  I'm  going  back  after  her.  I  love  her,"  Long  Bill 
said  simply. 

For  an  instant  Deane  hesitated.  In  after-hours  the 
eloquence  of  that  declaration  and  that  attitude  came 
back  to  him,  but  at  the  moment  he  dimly  appreciated  it. 

"  I  had  forgotten,"  he  said.  "  You're  right,  Long 
Bill.  Carry  her  here ;  I'll  wait  for  you !  " 

"  You  take  care  of  Jake,  and  send  back  the  first  car- 
riage you  see,"  ordered  the  sailor,  and  before  Deane 
could  protest  he  had  started  on  a  run  back  to  the  base- 
ment. 

A  few  blocks  away  Deane  hailed  a  cab  and  sent  it 
back  to  the  vacant  house,  but  Long  Bill  never  used  it. 
He  had  picked  up  the  unconscious  girl  and  had  reached 
the  foot  of  the  stairs  when  the  officers  halted  him.  He 
earnestly  protested  that  he  had  no  connection  with  the 
crime,  and  that  his  only  wish  was  to  save  the  life  of  the 
injured  girl — if  life  still  remained.  The  gruff  patrol- 
men were  impressed  with  his  sincerity,  but  told  him  it 
was  their  duty  to  hold  him  as  a  witness,  if  not  as  a 
principal. 

Long  Bill  was  forced  to  admit  that  they  had  no  alter- 
native, and  it  was  at  his  suggestion  that  one  of  them 
went  to  call  an  ambulance. 

The  sailor  bent  over  the  figure  of  the  one  he  had 


BEHIND    THE  BARS  251 

loved  from  the  hour  he  saw  her.  By  no  word  or  sigh 
had  he  betrayed  to  her  or  to  anyone — until  a  moment 
before — the  passion  which  had  crept  into  his  rough  and 
honest  heart. 

Forty  years  had  rolled  past  since  he  first  saw  the  light 
of  day  on  an  Illinois  farm,  and  he  had  witnessed  many 
things  and  learned  many  things,  but  no  schoolboy  was 
more  of  a  novice  in  the  art  of  love-making. 

He  knew  only  that  he  loved  Annieta  Fischer.  He 
had  wondered  a  hundred  times  how  he  could  make  him- 
self worthy  of  her  love,  how  he  should  make  it  known 
to  her,  but  the  path  was  one  in  which  he  groped  blindly. 
The  day  had  come  when  she  was  alone  in  the  world. 
Her  father  lay  dead  on  the  cold  clay  just  beyond  the  hem 
of  her  skirt. 

There  was  not  a  mark  on  the  pale  beautiful  face 
upturned  to  his  sad  gaze,  but  the  tender  hands  were 
bleeding  where  she  had  pounded  on  the  door.  The  sailor 
was  not  unskilled  in  medicine,  and  he  learned  that  the 
spark  of  life  lingered.  He  was  rubbing  her  wrists  with 
his  calloused  hands  when  other  officers  arrived  with  the 
ambulance  and  professional  surgeons. 

And  thus  they  parted  after  his  first  declaration  of 
love  to  a  woman — the  lover  unseen,  his  vows  voiceless — 
he  to  a  cell  in  a  jail,  she  to  a  cot  in  a  hospital. 

In  the  meantime  Deane  had  driven  to  his  apartments 
with  the  senseless  body  of  Jake  Stark  in  the  seat  beside 
him.  Once  or  twice  the  captain  muttered  and  attempted 


255B 


THE 


B  Ibmi  —  enovnB  ot  to  T9d  oJ  bo^Bited  9if  bfid 

rts<jifi}p^«a^ 
cian  was  called,  and  other  medical  atten,<Jf#$$  - 


the  i 

aiK.  BJsinnA  Lsvol  ail  Jeiil  vino  */79icI  sH 


LIuoifg  od  wod  ,970!  tod  lo  ydjiov/  1198 

tite  sii 

ir^ggBd 
painful  are  not  necessarily  dangerous. 

thiag  ej&  kotb^Jb  iiia^. 

jfcft-A  fetf  botfr^esig  Lfia  aid  ot  Lerrnrdqu 


n 


v/  bovine  8i9offlo  i9dJo  ngdv/  gbnud  bgeuoll/io  eid 
"  I  am  Stanley  I)$ftaeymB  iBnoiesgloiq  bnB  9DflfiIudmfi 


face  of  the.Jp|Jq«Bft  a  ni  ioo  u  oJ  9da  JIB'[  B  ni  1I9D  B  ot  9d 

nl 

9111  dliw 


taid  tin? 


"Captain   Hogan,"   replied   the   man   i 

authority  arfbth 
S9IBD3  bsoottBt  odJ 


has  charge  of  this  case,  and  that  he  canno&/pdf»jtf  Jtbe 


gnhqg  ot  '^1)891  brtB  bgilouoiD  b9ni998 
@yi$y/o|j  ti^i^eioa&iibgo^oUoeou 
held  a  brief  confereneer;g«itfc;'5)R-/€dsgEa^flo[ 


of 
his  arrest  at  oj 


with  crimft^ 


-li*lo!Biftit(  tiurned.  to 
listen  to  the  officer.  .97BT3*!oO  .id 


y"  ihfi 

long  as  you  say,  but  we  must  have  a  policeman  'h«oeifto 
keep  watch  on  him." 

"  That  is  customary,  and  there  is  no  objection,"  said 
Dr.  Cosgrave. 

The  officers  waited  while  Deane  packed  a  satchel  with 
personal  effects.  He  had  no  doubt  but  that  he  would 
speedily  be  released  on  bail,  but  he  was  prepared  for 


254 


THE   BOTTOM   OF    THE    WELL 


the  worst.  He  took  a  long  last  look  at  Jake  Stark. 
Tears  stood  in  his  eyes  as  he  gazed  into  that  homely  and 
kindly  face. 

One  arm  lay  across  the  white  coverlet,  and  on  it 
showed  the  tattooed  scales  of  "  Old  Rattletail "  coiled 
about  the  brawny  muscles  which  were  exposed  half-way 
to  the  elbow. 

The  sinister  diamond  eye  in  the  snake's  head  gleamed 
evil-eyed  from  the  knuckle-joint  of  the  middle  finger, 
and  seemed  crouched  and  ready  to  spring  at  the  one  who 
dared  approach  the  stricken  giant  to  whom  he  had  clung 
for  many  long  and  eventful  years. 

The  old  man  moved  slightly  and  groaned  in  his  sleep. 
The  arm  raised  slightly  from  the  spread. 

"  Take  a  reef  in  her,  Long  Bill !  "  he  muttered,  his 
eyelids  fluttering.  "  Take  a  reef  in  her !  It's  blowing 
like  hell,  an'  she's  makin'  bad  weather  of  it !  " 

Deane  placed  his  hand  on  the  fevered  brow,  stooped 
over  and  kissed  the  bearded  lips,  and  then  turned  and 
faced  Dr.  Cosgrave. 

"  I  leave  him  in  your  care,  doctor,"  he  said.  "  Do  for 
him  everything  your  skill  can  suggest.  I  am  ready, 
officer." 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  DEAG-NET 

TOM  HABKNESS,  Mr.  Farnsworth  and  others  hurried 
to  the  Buckingham  mansion.  Alice's  grief  was  pitiful. 
They  tenderly  conducted  her  from  the  gloomy  place,  and 
during  the  weeks  which  followed  she  saw  it  no  more. 

The  Farnsworths  lavished  on  her  all  that  sympathy 
can  offer,  but  deeper  than  the  grief  over  the  fate  of  her 
father  was  a  remorse  which  no  loving  words  could 
assuage. 

A  thousand  times  she  lived  over  again  the  stormy  in- 
terview with  her  father,  a  quarrel  precipitated  by  her 
greeting  to  Deane.  It  was  her  first  open  rebellion,  and 
every  word  which  passed  between  them  was  seared  on 
her  brain.  Since  that  evening,  their  discourse  had  been 
that  of  enemies  forced  to  remain  under  one  roof  and  to 
tolerate  each  other's  society. 

From  the  moment  she  defied  him,  his  attitude 
changed.  All  his  sternness  disappeared,  and  in  place 
of  it  was  an  air  of  sorrow  over  the  wilfulness  of  a  child. 
She  had  not  yielded  in  the  slightest  to  this  softened 
demeanor;  on  the  contrary,  it  had  fortified  her  pride 
and  encouraged  her  stubborn  will.  He  should  make  the 


256  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

advances  for  a  reconciliation;  he  should  learn  that  his 
daughter  had  inherited  some  of  his  unbending  traits. 

This  feeling  was  foreign  to  the  true  Alice  Bucking- 
ham. She  had  the  proper  spirit  of  a  young  woman,  but 
her  pride  was  tempered  bv  a  winning  tenderness  be- 
queathed by  her  momer.  In  the  days  immediately  after 
the  scene  with  her  father,  sha  had,  been  able  to  justify 

I  JL  f^~Tj  f*Jl\.L  KflTX 

her  every  word  and  action;  but  things  look  different 
•frium/wkathflsfcrlkes  ddHnaralhos£  wMi  . 
And  -he 


Thwi 

iJifrBqrnvg  JBtlt  Us  i9r[  no  bedgivBl  adtiowaniBl  srtT 

•;  Etit  life  i 


the  fair  young  girl  turned  her  thoughts  from 


biiydl»hdrofajliherib  tiaift  ^nin-avs  tarfj  99018    .flisid  isrf 

oJ  One  framing 

what  had  occurred.    The 

ttfattHie  seiriat^oriBfl  is^ftafts 


lo  iis  HB  SBW  Ji  io 
^^ 

bad  Jr  ^iBtJnoD  sdt  no  j- 


THE   DRAG-NET 


257 


Dolly,  who  was  eager  to  relate  all  she  knew.  "  The 
doctor  said  I  shouldn't." 

"  Doctors  are  very  wise,"  admitted  Alice,  with  a  wan 
smile,  "  but  you  have  aroused  my  curiosity,  and  you 
may  as  well  satisfy  it." 

"  I  don't  dare  to,"  persisted  Dolly. 

"  Then  I  will  find  out  for  myself,"  quiety  declared 
her  cousin,  the  color  mounting  to  her  cheeks  for  the  first 
time  since  her  affliction.  "  Don't  treat  me  like  a  child." 

"  If  I  must,  I  must,  I  suppose,"  eagerly  responded  the 
other,  "  but  you  mustn't  believe  a  word  I  tell  you.  I 
don't  mean  that,"  she  hesitated,  "  but  you  mustn't  be- 
lieve anything  wrong  against  Stanley  Deane,  because  he 
isn't  guilty.  I  know  he  isn't  guilty.  Tom  is  sure  he 
will  come  out  all  right,  and  Tom  is  right  about  every- 
thing. You  see " 

"  What  are  you  talking  about  ? "  cried  Alice,  rising 
from  the  couch,  her  dark  eyes  large  with  wonder. 
"  Stanley  Deane  guilty  ?  Guilty  of  what  ?  " 

"  He  isn't  guilty  of  anything,"  breathlessly  declared 
Dolly,  "  and  that's  what  I'm  trying  to  tell  you.  But — 
but — but  they  have  arrested  him  and  they  won't  let  him 
out  of  jail.  Tom  tried  the  best  he  could,  but  they " 

"  Mr.  Deane  arrested  ?  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Are  you 
jesting,  Dolly?  Why  was  he  arrested?  Tell  me,  tell 
me!" 

Dolly  hesitated  a  moment,  bit  her  red  lips  and 
wrinkled  her  pretty  brow. 

"  I'm  making  an  awful  mess  of  this,"  she  stammered, 


258  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

"but  please,  please  don't  get  excited!  The  mean  old 
papers  say  that  Stanley  was  in  the  conspiracy  to — to  kill 
your  father !  " 

The  startled  look  which  came  to  Alice's  eyes  with 
this  tactless  announcement  flamed  in  an  instant  into  one 
of  indignation  and  anger.  She  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"  It's  a  lie !  "  she  cried,  catching  Dolly  by  the  shoul- 
ders and  shaking  her.  "  How  dare  you  tell  me  such  a 
thing !  It's  an  awful,  an  infamous  lie !  " 

"  Of  course  it  is,"  she  sobbed.  "  I  told  you  it  was ! 
It's  not  my  fault !  Don't,  Alice,  you're  hurting  me !  " 

"  Forgive  me,  Dolly,  I  did  not  know  what  I  was 
doing,"  she  said,  and  threw  her  arms  about  her  cousin. 
After  this  April  shower  of  tears  both  felt  better,  and 
Alice  listened  calmly  to  the  disjointed  and  fragmentary 
story  told  by  the  disobedient  Dolly. 

Later  in  the  day  Harkness  called,  and  the  substance  of 
his  account  combined  with  that  narrated  by  Dolly  may 
be  condensed  as  follows: 

When  Deane  arrived  at  the  police  station  he  was  in- 
formed that  he  was  charged  with  complicity  in  the 
murder  of  Buckingham,  and  that  therefore  no  offer  of 
bail  could  be  entertained.  He  submitted  to  search  and 
was  placed  in  a  cell.  Harkness  called  half  an  hour  later, 
but  was  not  permitted  to  see  the  prisoner.  While  he  was 
protesting  against  this,  Farnsworth  arrived,  and  the  in- 
fluence of  this  powerful  financier  prevailed  over  that  of 
the  younger  and  less-known  Harkness. 

The  two  were  conducted  to  the  cell  occupied  by  the 


THE   DRJG-NET  259 

young  reformer.  He  greeted  them  calmly,  and  quietly 
and  frankly  told  what  little  he  knew  about  the  murder. 
He  did  not  seem  the  least  disturbed  over  the  outcome, 
so  far  as  he  was  concerned,  but  was  strangely  agitated 
over  the  injuries  sustained  by  Captain  Stark.  Deane 
offered  no  explanation  of  why  he  had  taken  this  stranger 
to  his  rooms,  but  pleaded  with  Harkness  to  see  that 
everything  possible,  medically  and  legally,  be  done  in 
his  behalf. 

He  also  requested  that  Judge  Sawyer  be  retained  to 
represent  him.  He  had  studied  law  under  the  old  judge, 
and  between  the  two  there  existed  the  love  and  respect 
of  father  and  son.  While  this  conference  was  in  prog- 
ress, Saxon  was  admitted  to  the  jail,  and  at  once  vol- 
unteered his  services  on  Deane's  behalf.  While  the 
young  lawyer  was  not  in  sympathy  with  many  of  the 
views  entertained  by  the  gifted  pessimist,  he  recognized 
his  marked  legal  ability  and  counted  him  a  friend.  He 
accepted  his  offer  and  warmly  thanked  him  for  it. 

Few  of  the  twenty  odd  members  of  The  Well  escaped 
arrest.  Saxon  and  Pierre  Daubeny  were  the  more  con- 
spicuous exceptions.  "  Braidwood  Pete  Magoon," 
"  Dummy  Halakoff,"  Steinbach  and  several  others  were 
captured  when  the  police  descended  on  them  less  than 
an  hour  after  the  explosion.  Others  were  taken  from 
their  homes,  charged  with  a  part  in  the  conspiracy  and 
held  without  bail. 

In  addition  to  these  denizens  of  The  Well,  there  were 
caught  in  the  drag-net  a  dozen  or  more  of  the  officers 


26o  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

and  active  members  of  the  trade-union.  Within  twenty- 
four  hours  the  jails  contained  two  score  of  prisoners, 
and  as  many  more  were  suspected  and  kept  under  sur- 
veillance. 

The  metropolis  was  in  a  furor  of  rage  and  excitement. 
Nothing  is  so  repugnant  to  the  American  sense  of  fair- 
ness and  ethics  as  an  exhibition  of  dynamite  anarchy, 
and  here  was  a  case  so  diabolical  that  it  aroused  the 
public  to  a  frenzy  of  crimination. 

The  wildest  stories  circulated  and  found  credence.  It 
was  rumored  that  Buckingham  was  the  first  victim  of  a 
score  who  had  been  marked  for  assassination;  that  an 
international  plot  against  employers  of  labor  had  been 
originated,  and  that  force  and  revenge  were  to  supplant 
conservative  trade-union  efforts.  The  sensational  papers 
were  in  their  element,  but  they  refrained  from  making 
direct  charges  against  Deane. 

It  was  intimated  that  the  police  had  a  very  strong  cir- 
cumstantial case  against  the  young  reformer,  but  his 
wealth  and  aristocratic  antecedents  protected  him 
against  loose  charges  and  invective.  The  detectives  re- 
fused to  discuss  his  connection  with  the  death  of  Buck- 
ingham, but  their  efforts  were  untiring.  The  public 
was  informed  that  Deane  was  well  acquainted  with 
Fischer  and  Dare,  that  he  had  suddenly  been  summoned 
from  the  mass  meeting  by  the  daughter  of  the  dead 
anarchist,  that  he  was  in  or  near  the  basement  at  the 
time  of  the  explosion,  and  that  he  had  aided  one  of  the 
more  desperate  of  the  anarchists  to  escape. 


THE   DRAG-NET  261 

These  facts  were  beyond  dispute,  and  it  looked  black 
for  Deane.  The  millions  who  followed  the  published 
reports  of  developments  were  willing  and  eager  to  be- 
lieve that  yet  more  startling  evidence  against  the  young 
millionaire  and -aristocrat  was  in  possession  of  the  police. 

The  fate  of  the  other  prisoners  attracted  little  notice. 
Captain  Jake  Stark  received  some  attention  by  reason 
of  the  fact  that  Deane  had  attempted  to  rescue  him. 
There  was  no  question  of  the  guilt  of  Long  Bill,  and  it 
was  understood  that  he  had  confessed. 

Annieta  Fischer  was  described  as  "the  beautiful 
Queen  of  Anarchy,"  and  there  was  lively  interest  when 
it  was  declared  that  she  probably  would  live.  Her  name 
was  linked  in  various  ways  with  that  of  Deane,  thus 
giving  a  certain  romantic  glamour  to  the  grim  facts  and 
grotesque  reports. 

The  public  prosecutor  announced  that  all  records 
would  be  broken  in  bringing  the  guilty  to  justice.  A 
special  grand  jury  was  called.  Certain  of  the  testimony 
was  submitted,  after  which  true  indictments  were  made 
against  Deane,  William  Parker,  Jacob  Stark,  Peter 
Magoon,  Ignace  Malakoff,  Henreich  Steinbach  and 
thirty-one  others,  most  of  whom  were  members  of  The 
Well  or  identified  with  the  striking  employes  of  the 
Buckingham  mills. 

The  metropolis  thereupon  waited  impatiently  for  the 
day  set  for  the  opening  of  the  trial. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  LIFTED  VEIL 

"  THEBE'S  a  lady  in  the  consultation  room  who  wishes 
to  see  you." 

Deane  looked  up  from  a  book  to  see  one  of  the  jail 
guards  standing  before  his  cell  and  tapping  on  the  iron 
bars  with  a  huge  brass  key.  It  was  the  end  of  his  second 
week  in  the  Tombs,  and  he  had  fully  won  the  modest 
meed  of  popularity  with  those  who  held  him  prisoner. 
Possibly  the  names  of  Farnsworth  and  Judge  Sawyer 
had  weight ;  certain  it  is  that  the  young  reformer  had  all 
the  privileges  accorded  one  charged  with  murder. 

"  A  lady  to  see  me  ?  Who  is  she,  Harris  ?  "  he  asked, 
dropping  the  book  and  stepping  to  the  front  of  the  cell. 
Harris  already  had  the  key  in  the  lock. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  replied,  swinging  the  heavy  door 
noiselessly  back  on  its  hinges.  "  She  came  in  a  carriage, 
sir,  and  she's  in  deep  mourning  with  a  black  veil  over 
her  face,  but  I  can  tell  from  her  voice  that  she's  pretty. 
You'd  better  see  her,  sir." 

Deane  looked  blankly  at  him  for  a  moment,  then 
turned  and  walked  back  and  forth  in  the  narrow  confines 
of  his  cell. 


THE   LIFTED   fEIL  263 

"  It  cannot  be  possible !  "  he  muttered,  then  aloud  to 
Harris :  "  Did  she  positively  refuse  to  give  her  name  ?  " 

"  She  wouldn't  give  her  name,  sir,  but  she  did  say 
that  she  was  sure  you  would  see  her." 

"  Take  me  to  her,  Harris !  " 

Side  by  side  with  the  guard,  he  hurried  past  the  long 
tier  of  cells,  down  a  narrow  flight  of  stairs,  through  mas- 
sive steel  doors  which  were  unlocked  at  a  nod  from 
Harris,  until  at  last  they  stood  before  one  of  the  con- 
sultation rooms  beyond  the  noisome  atmosphere  of  the 
prison  proper.  An  attendant  opened  the  door,  and  with 
a  wildly  throbbing  heart  Deane  entered  the  plainly  fur- 
nished room. 

He  was  no  stranger  to  this  oasis  in  the  great  prison. 
At  least  once  a  day  he  had  entered  it  to  confer  with 
Judge  Sawyer  or  Saxon,  and  on  rare  but  more  delight- 
ful occasions  he  had  been  privileged  to  meet  Harkness 
and  other  friends  who  stood  stanchly  by  him  in  this 
crisis,  but  never  did  hope  mount  so  high  as  when  he 
looked  eagerly  about  the  room  for  his  mysterious  caller. 

She  was  seated  at  the  far  side  of  a  centre  table  which 
was  littered  with  books  and  papers.  In  an  instant  he 
recognized  her ! 

In  that  instant  he  stopped,  poised  between  emotions 
of  unutterable  hope  and  of  the  blackest  despair.  In  that 
moment  he  was  oblivious  to  the  past  and  reckless  of  the 
future — he  was  conscious  only  that  he  faced  a  present — 
a  present  thrilled  with  the  verdict  of  his  happiness  or 
woe. 


264  THE   BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

Only  a  few  feet  separated  them.  Beyond  the  draped 
outline  of  her  head  and  shoulders  the  sunlight  streamed 
into  a  window,  its  iron  bars  casting  parallel  shadows 
across  the  table  on  which  her  little  hands  rested. 

For  that  moment  both  were  motionless.  Then  she 
stood  erect,  tossed  aside  the  crepe  which  covered  her  pale 
and  beautiful  face,  took  a  step  forward  and  extended 
her  hands. 

"  Mr.  Deane,"  Alice  Buckingham  faltered,  tears 
brimming  in  her  dark  and  glorious  eyes,  "  Mr.  Deane,  I 
have  come  to  tell  you  I  know  that  you  are  innocent !  " 

And  in  that  moment  he  knew.  Had  they  exchanged 
ten  thousand  whispered  vows  he  would  not  have  been 
surer  that  her  love  was  his.  The  message  was  not  con- 
veyed to  him  in  the  words  she  uttered.  Neither  was  it 
in  the  way  in  which  she  spoke — her  manner  was  modest, 
almost  frightened;  but  there  was  something  back  of 
those  tear-brimmed  eyes  which  told,  without  wishing 
to  tell,  the  sweetest  story  a  man  can  listen  to. 

The  grim  jail  no  longer  existed.  The  mean  room  be- 
came an  enchanted  chamber,  but  his  eyes  held  only  the 
timid  little  black-draped  figure,  with  its  out-stretched 
hands,  parted  lips  and  lashes  wet  with  tell-tale  tears. 

Hope  never  dies  in  the  heart  of  one  who  loves.  His 
life  had  grown  dark  as  the  midnight  gloom  of  his  cell, 
yet  he  had  dared  hope  for  a  moment  like  this.  His  past 
had  arisen  to  haunt  him,  he  had  imagined  that  she  had 
turned  coldly  against  him,  unmerited  obloquy  had  tar- 
nished his  name,  he  faced  the  dread  charge  of  taking  the 


4 '  I  have  come  to  tell  you  I  know  that  you  are  innocent. ' ' 


Page  264. 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL  265 

life  of  a  human  being  by  means  most  despicable,  but  the 
hope  for  her  love  did  not  die. 

He  had  made  his  plans  and  dreamed  over  them.  The 
trial  should  result  in  his  triumphant  acquittal;  a  tri- 
umph so  sweeping  that  she  should  acknowledge  his  inno- 
cence. Then  he  would  do  some  great  thing.  When 
fame  was  his,  then  he  would  woo  her,  and  she  should 
wait  for  him.  There  would  come  a  day  when  he  could 
tell  her  of  his  unknown  past,  confident  that  her  love  for 
him  would  close  her  eyes  to  it.  It  was  a  long  and 
dangerous  path,  but  he  could  scale  the  heights  to  which 
it  led. 

Only  an  hour  before  he  had  reviewed  this  plan  step 
by  step,  and  had  found  it  good.  He  would  be  patient, 
he  would  be  cautious.  It  might  take  a  year,  it  might 
take  five — he  could  wait ;  she  must  wait. 

He  had  vainly  thought  to  harness  Love;  to  put  a  bit 
between  his  smiling  lips,  blinders  over  his  laughing  eyes, 
to  check  him  when  he  ran,  to  goad  him  when  he  faltered. 
As  well  try  to  harness  the  avalanche  when  the  warm 
kisses  of  the  sun  impel  it  to  leap  to  the  embrace  of  the 
smiling  valley  below. 

He  who  calculates  with  Love  is  lost  Stanley  Deane 
tossed  his  plans  to  the  winds  of  his  passion.  She  was 
his,  and  he  clutched  what  the  gods  had  given  him. 

"  Alice !  Alice,  my  darling !  I  love  you,  I  love  you !  " 
he  cried,  and  he  caught  the  little  black-draped  figure  in 
his  arms  and  pressed  it  to  his  heart 

He  saw  the  startled  look  which  leaped  into  her  eyes ; 


266  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

heard  the  little  gasp  of  surprise  as  his  arms  closed  about 
her ;  the  perfume  of  her  hair  was  in  his  nostrils  and  the 
warmth  of  her  breath  on  his  cheeks;  he  felt  the  trem- 
bling of  her  sweet  body  as  he  held  it  fast — but  none  of 
these  said  him  nay.  She  was  folded  unresisting  in  his 
arms — this  was  their  betrothal ! 

No  need  in  such  a  moment  for  words.  Had  there 
come  to  his  tongue  the  divine  frenzy  for  which  poets 
yearn,  it  would  not  have  added  to  the  eloquence  of  that 
voiceless  moment  when  she  raised  her  face  to  his  in 
loving  surrender. 

In  the  radiant  minutes  which  followed  they  did  as 
millions  of  lovers  have  done  before,  and  as  millions  will 
do  again  so  long  as  this  old  globe  of  ours  pulsates  with 
force  and  life.  What  they  said  was  feverish  and  inco- 
herent. Love  is  stately  only  when  it  is  thwarted  or 
bowed  in  sorrow — when  unimpeded  it  babbles  like  an 
artless  brook ;  and  this  is  as  it  should  be. 

Then  they  found  themselves  sitting  sedately  at  the 
table — not  too  sedately — her  hands  in  his,  their  faces 
not  far  apart,  her  veil  sadly  disarranged,  her  cheeks 
flushed  and  his  glorified — both  of  them  supremely  and 
selfishly  happy.  What  else  in  life  is  worth  fighting  and 
living  for  ? 

Deane's  plans  had  been  shattered — triumphantly 
shattered — but  there  still  remained  a  task  which  he 
could  not  shirk.  It  was  in  the  nature  of  an  anti-climax, 
but  in  that  hour  he  felt  that  he  had  the  strength  which 
could  remove  mountains. 


THE   LIFTED    VEIL  267 

"  Sweetheart,"  he  began,  "  I  have  something  to  tell 
you — something  very  important." 

"  You  have  been  telling  me  something  very  impor- 
tant, haven't  you,  Stanley  ? "  she  asked,  laughing  into 
his  sober  face. 

"  The  most  important  thing  in  the  world,  dearest,  but 
what  I  am  to  tell  you  now  should  have  come  first,"  he 
replied.  "  But  it  was  your  fault,  Alice.  When  you  held 
out  your  hands  and  made  me  the  happiest  man  living,  I 
forgot  all  else.  Now  I  must  come  back  to  earth,  and  I 
hate  to  do  it.  Alice,  darling,  would  you  be  willing  to 
marry  an  impostor  \  " 

This  strange  question  did  not  startle  her  as  he  had 
expected  it  would.  She  looked  up  at  him  quickly,  a 
peculiar  smile  on  her  face. 

"  No  impostor  has  yet  asked  me  to  marry  him,"  she 
replied,  her  eyes  dancing  and  her  cheeks  deliciously 
crimson.  "  I  know  of  an  impostor  who  took  me  by  sur- 
prise and  made  me  listen  to  many  declarations,  but  I 
knew  all  about  them  weeks  and  weeks  ago." 

"  And  I  know  one  who  listened  to  those  declarations 
and  who  made  some  in  return,"  he  said,  drawing  nearer 
to  her.  "  But  this  is  very  serious,  Alice,  sweetheart,  and 
really  I  am  not  jesting.  You  have  known  me  as  the  son 
of  Admiral  Stanley  Deane,  whose  name  I  bear  and  am 
legally  entitled  to,  but  you  do  not  know  that  I  am  not 
connected  with  that  family  by  any  ties  of  blood.  I — I 
am " 


268  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

"  You  are  the  dearest  and  best  impostor  that  ever 
lived,  and  I  love  you !  "  she  interrupted. 

"  But  you  don't  know !    You " 

"  I  do  know !  "  she  declared,  with  a  confidence  which 
for  the  moment  puzzled  him.  "  You  are  the  adopted 
son  of  Admiral  Deane,  and  he  and  Sir  Whitaker  Deane 
were  so  proud  of  you  that  they  made  you  their  heir. 
Do  I  not  know,  Sir  Stanley  Deane  ?  " 

"  I  had  forgotten ;  your  father  told  you !  "  exclaimed 
Deane.  "  Sweetheart,  if  you  only  knew  how  miserable 
you  made  me  that  night.  I  have  thought  of  it  a  thou- 
sand times  since,  and  there  have  been  moments  when  I 
felt  that  I  had  lost  you  forever." 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  she  said,, 
her  eyes  opening  wide.  "  I  made  you  miserable  ? 
How?" 

"  The  night  I  called  on  your  father  to  confer  with 
him  about  the  strike,"  he  hurriedly  explained.  "  We 
had  a  quarrel,  and  during  it  he  told  me  that  he  knew 
that  I  was  not  the  son  of  Admiral  Deane,  and  that  in 
all  probability  no  one  else  in  the  city  had  learned  that 
fact  abroad.  After  parting  with  him  in  anger  I  met 
you  in  the  hall  way,  and  you  were  so  cold  and  formal 
that  I  felt  sure  he  had  told  you  the  story,  and  that  you 
despised  me  for  it.  But  you  did  not,  did  you,  sweet- 
heart ?  Tell  me  that  you  did  not !  " 

A  look  of  pain  came  to  her  eyes  and  her  lips  trembled. 

"  I  was  not  thinking  of  you,"  she  faltered.  "  Oh,. 
Stanley,  I  wish  I  could  wipe  that  night  out  of  my  life ! 


THE   LIFTED   PEIL  269 

I  have  been  very  unhappy,  but  have  tried  not  to  show  it. 
My  mother  died  when  I  was  two  years  old,  and  since 
then  papa  has  been  so  engrossed  in  his  own  affairs  that 
it  has  seemed  to  me  that  he  did  not  care  for  my  love. 
He  took  little  interest  in  what  I  did,  and  I  came  to  resent 
it.  While  we  were  talking  that  evening,  papa  stood  at 
the  far  end  of  the  hall,  gazing  at  me  with  a  look  which 
made  me  very  angry.  I  assumed  that  you  had  not 
agreed.  Your  looks  showed  that,  and  when  I  found  that 
papa  was  glaring  at  me,  I  was  so  furious  that  I  presume 
I  acted  impolitely  toward  you." 

"  Not  that,"  he  declared,  "  but  you  were  so  distant 
that  I  could  put  only  one  construction  on  it.  Do  you 
recall  our  walk  in  the  garden  in  the  morning  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said  softly. 

"  And  the  rose  you  gave  me  ?  I  have  it  yet.  Your 
conduct  changed  so  that  I  was  sure  Mr.  Buckingham 
had  seen  us  in  the  garden  and  warned  you  against  me." 

"  I  knew  nothing  then  of  your  secret,"  Alice  said, 
"  and  until  you  had  left  that  night  papa  never  men- 
tioned your  name,  neither  did  he  afterwards.  He  told 
me  that — that  he  did  not  want  me  to — to  associate  with 
you,  and  we  had  a  dreadful  quarrel.  I  said  things  to 
him  which  I  should  not  have  said,  and  after  that  time 
we  hardly  spoke.  And  now — and  now  he  is  dead !  "  and 
the  distressed  girl  sobbed  in  his  arms. 

"  I'm  a  selfish  brute  to  have  thought  of  such  a  thing," 
Deane  declared,  when  he  had  soothed  her  and  brought 
a  smile  back  to  her  lips.  "  I  loved  you,  and  wished  a 


270  THE  BOTTOM   OF    THE    WELL 

chance  to  tell  you  of  a  mystery  which  hangs  over  my 
life,  but  I  feared  your  father  had  told  you  things  which 
would  make  you  think  me  a  cad  for  assuming  a  place 
which  was  not  mine  in  a  certain  sense.  I  had  no  chance 
to  tell  you,  but — sweetheart,  do  you  know  that  we  have 
met  only  four  or  five  times  since  we  first  saw  one 
another  in  old  Cragmere  ?  " 

"  I  know,"  she  replied,  smiling  through  her  tears. 

"  And  now  you  are  mine !  " 

"  You  are  a  very  presumptuous  impostor." 

"  And  a  very  fortunate  one,"  he  added,  tenderly 
pressing  her  hand.  "  Who  told  you  of  me,  sweetheart  ?  " 

"  Only  yesterday  Mr.  Peters  brought  me  a  package 
of  papa's  private  papers,  and  amongst  them  was  a 
memorandum  stating  that  you  were  the  adopted  son  of 
Admiral  Deane,"  she  said.  "  It  looked  to  me  like  a  con- 
versation between  himself  and  Sir  Whitaker  Deane, 
jotted  down  as  he  remembered  it.  Papa  was  very 
methodical  in  such  matters,  and  I  presume  he  intended 
to  file  it  away  for  future  reference." 

"  Did  it  say  who  I  was  ?  "  asked  Deane  eagerly. 

"  Only  that  you  were  an  American  boy,  and  that  the 
Admiral  adopted  you  in  Trinidad  when  you  were  about 
twelve  years  old,"  replied  Alice.  "  Tell  me  all  about  it. 
Has  your  life  been  as  sad  as  mine  ?  Just  think,  Stanley, 
I  never  saw  my  mother  to  remember  her.  Did  you  ever 
see  yours  ? " 

"  No,"  Stanley  said,  looking  down.    "  I  never " 

The  room  echoed  to  a  warning  rap  on  the  door  which. 


THE   LIFTED   VEIL  271 

signified  that  the  time  allowed  to  the  interview  had 
expired. 

"  It  is  a  long  and  a  sad  story,"  he  said,  as  they  arose 
at  this  signal.  "  No  matter  what  you  may  think  of  me, 
you  shall  some  day  hear  all  that  I  know  of  it,  and 
then " 

"  And  then  I  shall  think  of  you  just  as  I  do  now," 
she  frankly  declared.  "  Does  that  satisfy  you,  you  fool- 
ish boy?" 

"  It  makes  me  very,  very  happy !  "  he  exclaimed, 
drawing  her  to  him.  "  There  are  shadows  over  my  early 
life,  but  when  you  know  the  truth — as  you  shall  when  I 
am  released  from  here — you  shall  judge,  sweetheart,  if 
I  have  done  anything  which  will  make  me  unworthy  to 
be  your  husband." 

The  sound  of  a  key  grated  in  the  lock,  the  door  opened 
and  an  impassive  guard  stood  waiting  with  averted  eyes. 

"  I  believe  in  you,"  she  said  simply. 

For  a  moment  they  stood  with  clasped  hands,  silent 
under  the  spell  which  enthralled  them.  Then  he  gently 
released  her  and  watched  until  the  gloom  at  the  far  end 
of  the  corridor  engulfed  her. 

Harris  touched  him  on  the  arm.  Deane  smiled  as  he 
looked  into  the  face  of  the  attendant,  and  a  minute  later 
the  door  of  his  cell  swung  into  its  place. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  GEEAT  TRIAL 

THE  splendid  physique  of  Captain  Stark  stood  him  in 
good  stead,  and  he  rallied  slowly  but  steadily  from  the 
injuries  sustained  in  the  dynamite  explosion.  The  day 
before  the  opening  of  the  trial,  his  condition  was  such 
that  Doctor  Cosgrave  permitted  the  police  to  transfer 
the  captain  from  Deane's  apartment  to  a  cell  in  the  jail. 
Saxon  called  on  him  a  few  minutes  before  he  was  taken 
to  prison. 

"  Keep  a  stiff  upper  lip,  Captain  Stark,"  the  brusque 
lawyer  said.  "  We'll  pull  you  out  of  this  affair  all 
right." 

"  I'm  not  worryin'  much  about  that,"  the  old  sailor 
said,  "  but  it's  a  rum  go  when  a  man  sixty  odd  years  old 
gets  blowed  up  in  a  cellar  tryin'  tew  save  a  lot  of 
dummed  fools  that  he  hardly  knows,  an'  then  gets  ar- 
rested for  bein'  an  arna-kist — or  whatever  in  thunder 
you  call  'em.  Now  tell  me,  Mister  Saxon,  dew  I  look 
like  an  arna-kist  ?  " 

Saxon  was  tempted  to  tell  the  old  fellow  that  he  looked 
the  ideal  "  red,"  but  for  once  he  restrained  his  sarcastic 
tongue  and  assured  the  captain  to  the  contrary. 


THE   GREAT  TRIAL  273 

"  I  wish  you'd  tell  this  Mister  Deane  that  I'm  awfully 
obleeged  tew  him  for  bringing  me  here,"  said  Jake 
Stark  earnestly.  "  They  tell  me  he's  arrested  too,  an' 
I  only  hopes  that  he  hasn't  got  into  any  trouble  on  my 
account.  That's  the  best  bed  I  ever  slept  in,  an'  when 
I  get  out  of  this  scrape  I'm  goin'  tew  have  one  like  it 
if  I  have  tew  sell  another  sheep  farm  down  in  the  Ar- 
gentine tew  pay  fer  it.  This  is  the  first  swell  rest  I've 
had  since  I  was  seven  years  old,  an'  I  kinder  hates  tew 
leave  here,"  and  he  glanced  disconsolately  about  the 
beautifully  furnished  rooms.  "  Ofiicer,  I  reckon  them 
beds  in  the  jail  don't  quite  cum  up  tew  that  one,  now 
dew  they  ? " 

"  I'm  afraid  not,"  grinned  the  policeman. 

"Well,  it's  all  in  a  lifetime — as  old  King  Soloman 
onct  said." 

He  took  one  last  lingering  look  at  his  luxurious  sur- 
roundings, shook  hands  with  Saxon,  nodded  to  the 
officers  and  was  taken  to  jail. 

Annieta's  physical  injuries  were  found  to  be  slight  by 
the  hospital  surgeons,  but  for  a  week  it  was  feared  that 
her  mind  was  wrecked.  The  successive  deaths  of  her 
brother  and  mother,  followed  by  the  terrible  fate  of  her 
father,  plunged  her  into  a  delirium,  and  for  days  her 
life  and  reason  trembled  in  the  balance.  But  she  was 
young  and  strong,  and  by  direction  of  Deane,  a  famous 
specialist  gave  his  personal  attention  to  her  case,  and 
after  a  struggle  with  death  she  safely  passed  the  crisis 
and  emerged  weak  but  on  the  sure  way  to  recovery. 
18 


274  TH&  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

The  prosecution  considered  her  one  of  its  best  wit- 
nesses, and  she  was  held  in  the  hospital  until  such  time 
as  her  testimony  should  be  needed. 

After  an  examination  of  the  evidence,  the  prosecution 
consented  to  the  quashing  of  indictments  against  twenty- 
five  of  those  originally  arrested,  leaving  fourteen  to 
stand  trial  for  conspiracy  to  murder  Buckingham.  It 
was  the  consensus  of  legal  opinion  that  the  case  against 
most  of  these  fourteen  was  weak,  though  little  doubt  was 
expressed  of  the  conviction  of  Deane,  "  Long  Bill " 
Parker  and  Captain  Jake  Stark. 

The  names  of  the  remaining  eleven  were  hardly  men- 
tioned, and  the  public  had  little  interest  in  their  fate. 

Deane  was  the  shining  target  for  the  gaze  of  that 
large  class  which  finds  its  highest  intellectual  enjoy- 
ment in  the  following  of  murder  mysteries.  Never  had 
a  choicer  subject  been  offered  to  them.  The  lines  were 
sharply  drawn ;  with  one  faction  he  was  a  hero,  a  young 
reformer  who  had  been  enmeshed  in  a  web  of  circum- 
stantial evidence  from  which  he  would  break  trium- 
phant; with  another  faction  he  was  a  perverted  aristocrat, 
a  young  man  of  wealth  and  undoubted  talents  who  had 
dared  use  these  weapons  in  an  attack  on  all  that  property 
holds  dear. 

As  the  day  for  the  trial  approached,  the  interest  and 
excitement  rose  to  feverish  heights.  The  climax  was 
reached  when  it  was  positively  announced  that  Alice 
Buckingham  had  visited  Deane  in  jail,  that  she  had 
remained  in  the  consultation  room  with  him  for  a  long 


THE    GREAT   TRIAL  275 

while,  and  that  she  had  warmly  clasped  hands  with  him 
in  parting.  It  was  impossible  to  obtain  confirmation  of 
this,  but  it  was  not  denied  by  either,  and  the  published 
report  was  generally  credited. 

Here  was  a  delicious  morsel!  The  daughter  of  the 
murdered  Buckingham  had  called  on  the  man  accused 
of  fostering  the  dynamite  conspiracy!  This  was  the 
finishing  touch,  and  in  consequence  of  it  the  lives  of  the 
court  officials  were  made  miserable  by  the  thousands 
who  demanded  tickets  of  admission  to  the  trial. 

An  eager,  fighting  mob  of  men  and  women  invaded 
the  corridors  of  the  court  building  on  the  morning  set 
for  the  opening  of  the  great  anarchist  trial.  When  the 
fourteen  prisoners  were  led  into  the  court  room  a  mur- 
mur arose  from  the  hundreds  of  favored  spectators,  and 
all  eyes  were  directed  to  Stanley  Deane. 

The  young  reformer  seemed  unconscious  of  this  con- 
centrated scrutiny.  He  wore  a  suit  of  dark  blue  which 
showed  his  tall  and  splendidly  muscular  figure  to  ad- 
vantage. Xo  need  to  point  him  out  amongst  his  un- 
fortunate companions.  The  days  spent  in  a  cell  had  not 
touched  the  clear  olive  of  his  perfectly  chiselled  face; 
his  dark  eyes  flashed  with  confidence  and  courage,  and 
the  thin  lips  of  his  expressive  mouth  were  touched  at 
times  with  amused  scorn  as  he  returned  the  gaze  of  the 
morbid  mob. 

He  warmly  greeted  his  lawyers,  held  a  brief  confer- 
ence with  Saxon  and  Judge  Sawyer,  and  then  took  his 


*76  THE  BOTTOM  OF   THE   WELL 

seat  to  watch  a  procedure  in  which  he  had  taken  a  far 
different  part  on  many  occasions. 

After  the  usual  motions  aimed  to  dismiss  the  case  had 
been  made  and  denied,  the  work  of  selecting  a  jury 
began.  It  was  not  until  the  afternoon  of  the  second  day 
that  the  twelve  jurymen  were  chosen,  and  the  leader  of 
the  prosecution  began  his  opening  address  to  judge  and 
jury,  paying  due  declamatory  deference  to  the  great 
public  in  whose  behalf  he  appeared. 

Detective  Jacoby  entered  the  room  just  before  the 
representative  of  the  prosecuting  attorney's  office  began 
his  address,  and  took  a  seat  where  he  could  watch  the 
speaker  and  also  keep  an  eye  on  the  prisoners.  Mr. 
Jacoby  was  in  excellent  spirits,  or  at  least  seemed  to  be. 
He  was  neatly  dressed,  his  bald  head  gleamed  buff  in 
the  light  from  a  west  window,  his  dyed  mustache  was 
twisted  into  aggressive  points  which  lifted  when  his 
dark  face  was  wreathed  in  frequent  smiles,  he  rubbed 
his  hands  complacently  and  beamed  satisfaction  and  ap- 
proval on  judge,  jury,  prisoners  and  audience.  To  have 
watched  Jacoby  in  these  moments,  a  casual  spectator 
would  have  imagined  that  the  trial  was  his  personally 
conducted  affair,  and  that  its  initial  success  had  ex- 
ceeded his  fondest  expectations. 

One  of  the  prisoners  had  a  special  fascination  for 
Jacoby.  The  public  knew  little  of  the  charges  against 
this  particular  suspect,  but  it  was  evident  that  Jacoby 
attached  much  importance  to  his  connection  with  the 


THE   GREAT   TRIAL  277 

tragedy.  Again  and  again  the  detective's  eyes  sought 
him  out. 

The  prisoner  thus  favored  with  Mr.  Jacoby's  atten- 
tion was  a  large  and  vicious-appearing  man,  and  he 
shrank  back  and  crouched  in  his  chair  as  if  conscious 
that  his  personality  would  count  against  him.  His  tall 
and  shambling  frame  was  covered  with  gray  and  ill- 
fitting  garments;  his  forbidding  face  bristled  with  the 
stubble  of  a  two  weeks'  beard,  which  did  not  wholly 
conceal  an  ugly  scar  from  his  right  ear  to  the  point  ol 
his  heavy  chin;  another  scar  from  a  freshly  healed 
wound  ran  from  his  left  temple  into  his  closely  cropped 
hair,  and  his  whole  attitude  and  appearance  was  that  of 
a  desperate  ruffian  overhauled  by  justice — one  whose 
sullen  hate  and  defiance  of  law  and  society  was  tinged 
by  a  fear  that  his  day  of  punishment  was  at  hand. 

The  indictment  gave  to  this  self-evident  criminal  the 
name  of  Rudolph  Heinemann,  and  the  newspaper  artists 
were  busy  sketching  him  as  the  purest  type  of  the  anar- 
chist in  the  entire  array  of  prisoners.  When  Heine- 
mann noticed  this,  his  lips  mantled  in  an  ugly  smile 
which  made  him  more  savage  than  ever. 

To  the  right  of  Heinemann  sat  little  Malakoff,  the 
deaf  and  dumb  typewriter  who  was  the  first  to  greet 
Deane  on  the  night  when  Dare  conducted  him  to  The 
Well.  The  diminutive  Malakoff  was  the  personification 
of  alertness  and  unsatisfied  curiosity.  He  bobbed  back 
and  forth  in  his  chair,  devouring  with  his  eyes  that 
which  could  not  come  to  his  ears,  and  he  talked  to  him- 


278  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

self  with  fingers,  mouth  and  elbows,  to  the  evident 
annoyance  of  the  huge  Heinemann  who  sat  beside  him. 

To  the  left  of  Heinemann  was  Captain  Stark,  and 
next  to  him  sat  Long  Bill.  The  jovial  face  of  the  cap- 
tain was  clouded  the  first  day,  but  after  that  he  took  a 
keen  interest  in  all  that  happened.  There  was  some- 
thing about  his  homely  face  and  occasional  smile  which 
radiated  innocence,  and  the  eyes  of  the  jurymen  often 
wandered  to  him  and  in  no  unkindly  way.  Once  the 
captain  leaned  over  and  loudly  whispered  something  to 
the  solemn-faced  Long  Bill,  and  for  this  indiscretion 
was  sternly  rebuked  by  the  judge.  Jake  Stark  was  much 
distressed. 

"  Don't  count  it  ag'in  me,  judge,"  he  said,  rising  and 
making  an  awkward  bow.  "  This  is  a  new  job  fer  me, 
an'  I  don't  know  the  rules,  but  it  won't  happen  ag'in, 
judge ;  an'  ye  can  rely  on  that !  " 

The  judge  motioned  him  to  his  seat,  and  a  few  min- 
utes later  the  prosecution  fired  the  opening  gun. 

Anarchy  is  a  word  to  conjure  with  when  directed 
against  one  charged  with  participation  in  its  odious 
propaganda  of  force,  and  the  brilliant  prosecutor  did  not 
fail  to  take  full  advantage  of  it.  On  the  tongue  of  an 
orator  the  word  "  AN- ARCH- Y  "  has  the  explosive, 
shattering  sound  which  suggests  dynamite,  and  woe 
betide  the  suspect  who  hears  that  harsh  expletive  hurled 
against  him. 

The  gifted  speaker  told  of  the  damning  record  of 
anarchistic  outrages  abroad  and  at  home,  and  then  in 


THE   GREAT   TRIAL  279 

scathing  terms  execrated  those  who  appealed  to  dyna- 
mite in  a  country  which  gave  to  each  citizen  the  full  and 
free  right  of  participation  in  the  affairs  of  government. 
He  tactfully  admitted  that  abuses  existed  in  politics  and 
industry,  but  urged  that  it  was  the  duty  of  the  law  to 
sternly  punish  those  who  "  appealed  to  the  most 
cowardly  weapon  ever  grasped  by  crazed  fanatics  of  a 
damnable  heresy." 

He  then  drew  a  vivid  picture  of  the.  murder  of  Amos 
Buckingham. 

"  He  was  the  talented  son  of  a  man  who  founded  one 
of  the  great  manufacturing  enterprises  of  the  metrop- 
olis," declared  the  prosecutor,  "  and  that  father  be- 
queathed to  him  the  ownership  and  management  of  the 
mills  which  for  years  have  given  employment  to  thou- 
sands of  men  and  women.  Of  his  differences  with  his 
employes  we  have  no  direct  concern.  These  disagree- 
ments between  employer  and  employed  constantly  arise. 
The  workers  had  a  right  to  ask  more  pay ;  Mr.  Bucking- 
ham had  a  right  to  refuse  them;  they  had  a  right  to 
strike,  and  they  did  so,  and  had  affairs  taken  their  nat- 
ural course  one  side  would  have  won  a  peaceful  victory 
in  this  contest — this  fair  and  openly  waged  contest.  But 
it  was  not  to  be. 

"  Buckingham  was  more  than  a  manufacturer,  more 
than  a  mere  seeker  for  the  profits  from  his  mills.  He 
was  a  scientist,  an  experimenter,  a  delver  after  the 
secrets  on  which  are  founded  all  of  our  mechanical  and 
industrial  progress.  Tor  the  purpose  of  conducting 


28o  THE   BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

these  researches,  he  erected  a  laboratory  near  his  resi- 
dence, and  in  this  he  toiled  until  late  at  night  with  the 
untiring  zeal  of  the  true  scientist,  heedless  of  the  money 
losses  sustained  in  the  strike,  heedless  of  everything 
except  adding  some  new  fact  to  the  sum  of  human 
knowledge — and  while  thus  unselfishly  engaged,  fiends 
in  human  shape  plotted  for  his  life,  wormed  their  way 
like  rnoles  until  they  were  beneath  the  place  sanctified 
by  his  labors,  and  waiting  their  chance  they  fired  a  mine 
and  blew  him  into  eternity." 

A  hush  fell  over  the  vast  throng  as  the  speaker 
dramatically  paused,  and  a  thousand  eyes  wandered 
from  him  to  the  prisoners.  Stanley  Deane  would  have 
been  more  than  human  had  he  not  been  affected  by  this 
ordeal.  The  color  left  his  face,  but  his  calm  eyes  were 
fixed  on  the  orator,  and  by  no  other  sign  did  he  betray 
his  emotion. 

Captain  Stark  moved  uneasily  in  his  seat,  quailed 
before  the  battery  of  angry  eyes  and  looked  down  to  his 
huge  feet.  Little  Malakoff  looked  eagerly  about  in  help- 
less wonder,  but  Long  Bill  did  not  move  an  eyelash. 
Heinemann  leaned  slightly  forward  in  his  chair,  a 
defiant  sneer  on  his  lips.  Detective  Jacoby  half  arose 
in  his  excitement,  his  smile  fading  into  a  scared  ex- 
pression, and  then  fell  back  into  his  chair  and  drummed 
lightly  with  his  fingers  on  its  arm. 

"  It  does  not  in  the  slightest  degree  appease  the  ends 
of  justice  that  two  of  the  plotters  met  their  death  in  the 
blast  which  killed  Buckingham,"  continued  the  speaker. 


THE   GREAT  TRIAL  281 

"  That  was  the  instant  retribution  of  Providence !  On 
you,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  rests  the  responsibility  of 
satisfying  the  inexorable  demands  of  the  law  which 
society  has  framed  that  the  ends  of  justice  may  be 
served.  Greater  than  the  crime  of  August  Fischer  and 
of  Wallace  Dare  was  that  of  the  men  whose  brains 
planned  this  conspiracy,  and  whose  money  and  advice 
made  its  success  possible.  The  former  were  the  dupes, 
and  they  have  gone  to  render  their  account  to  a  Judge 
from  whose  decision  there  is  no  appeal,  but  it  is  for  you, 
gentlemen  of  the  jury,  to  decide  the  earthly  fate  of  those 
against  whom  we  shall  adduce  as  strong  a  chain  of  direct 
and  circumstantial  evidence  as  ever  cried  out  for  justice 
and  relentless  punishment. 

"  Kot  all  of  these  prisoners  share  equally  in  the  guilt 
of  this  colossal  crime,  but  we  shall  prove  that  each  of 
them  participated  in  it.  We  shall  prove  that  three  of 
them  were  on  the  spot  when  the  crime  was  committed, 
and  that  the  others  were  cognizant  of  and  aided  in  abet- 
ting and  executing  this  murder." 

The  prosecutor  looked  steadily  at  Deane  for  a 
moment,  and  all  eyes  followed  his  significant  gaze.  He 
then  continued : 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  we  shall  prove  to  you  that 
one  of  the  prisoners  had  a  stronger  personal  reason  than 
had  August  Fischer  for  wishing  the  death  of  Amos 
Buckingham.  This  prisoner  is  a  man  of  wealth,  of  re- 
puted aristocratic  lineage,  a  man  of  unquestioned  abil- 
ity, but  inoculated,  as  we  shall  prove,  with  an  enmity 


282  THE   BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

against  the  traditions  and  institutions  of  his  adopted 
country ;  but  more  than  all  that,  he  has  stood  in  fear  of 
certain  revelations  which  it  was  in  the  power  of  Amos 
Buckingham  to  make.  These  disclosures  would  have 
denied  to  him  the  high  place  in  society  which  he  un- 
worthily held;  they  would  have  effaced  the  slightest 
chance  for  a  matrimonial  alliance  to  which  he  im- 
pudently aspired ;  they  would  have  forever  checked  the 
career  as  a  social  reformer  and  politician  on  which  he 
had  fixed  his  heart  and  to  which  he  had  bent  every 
resource  at  his  command. 

"  The  testimony  will  show  that  this  prisoner  must 
have  been  cognizant  of  this  conspiracy  from  its  incep- 
tion. It  was  upon  his  advice  that  the  Buckingham  em- 
ployes went  on  strike.  In  the  riot  which  followed  that 
strike  he  took  a  part,  and  in  it  he  rescued  Wallace  Dare 
from  a  deserved  beating  at  the  hands  of  the  police  who 
finally  quelled  that  unlawful  outbreak.  He  went  with 
Dare  to  a  resort  called  The  Well,  within  the  dark  and 
mysterious  walls  of  which  was  plotted  the  death  of  Buck- 
ingham, and  probably  of  others  who  have  dared  to  assert 
their  right  to  conduct  their  affairs  without  interference 
from  outside  dictation. 

"  In  this  conspiracy  at  the  bottom  of  The  Well,  the 
prisoner  I  have  in  mind  took  the  leading  part.  He  held 
protracted  conferences  with  the  proprietor,  the  character 
known  to  the  public  as  l  Long  Bill '  Parker.  What  sub- 
ject did  he  discuss,  gentlemen  of  the  jury  ?  Is  there  sig- 
nificance in  the  fact  that  he  and  Long  Bill  were  in  the 


THE    GREAT   TRIAL  2g3 

basement  of  that  vacant  house  when  the  dynamite  was 
exploded  ?  In  this  Well  he  also  met  Jake  Stark,  and 
Jake  Stark  was  injured  in  the  premature  firing  of  the 
mine  which  killed  Amos  Buckingham.  He  was  the  in- 
timate friend  and  associate  of  August  Fischer  and  Wal- 
lace Dare.  He  defended  the  former  in  court,  and, 
gentlemen  of  the  jury,  he  advanced  to  him  the  money 
which  made  possible  the  construction  of  the  death 
tunnel,  and  with  which  the  dynamite  was  purchased!  " 

The  silence  which  followed  this  dramatic  declaration 
was  broken  by  a  murmur  which  swelled  with  rising 
horror  and  detestation.  The  bailiffs  rapped  for  order, 
the  judge  frowned,  and  angry  eyes  were  turned  from 
Deane  to  the  triumphant  prosecutor. 

"  Nor  is  this  all  that  we  shall  prove  against  this  pris- 
oner, your  honor,  and  gentlemen  of  the  jury,"  continued 
the  orator,  laying  aside  his  notes  and  throwing  his 
shoulders  back.  "  Stanley  Deane  has  posed  before  the 
world  as  the  son  of  Admiral  Deane,  a  brave  officer  in  the 
navy  of  our  mother  country,  a  worthy  descendant  of  one 
of  her  best  families.  He  has  asked  praise  from  those 
of  small  minds  because  he  renounced  the  title  to  which 
he  held  claim.  We  shall  establish  beyond  the  perad- 
venture  of  a  doubt  that  Amos  Buckingham  was  aware 
of  the  falsity  of  this  claim. 

"  Just  before  work  was  started  on  the  tunnel,  Stanley 
Deane  had  an  interview  with  Amos  Buckingham,  dur- 
ing which  interview  the  latter  rashly  told  Deane  that  he 
— Buckingham — alone  knew  the  secret  of  his  past;  that 


284  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    ff£LL 

he  was  not  the  son  of  Admiral  Deane,  but  that  he  was  a 
foundling  of  ignoble  or  unknown  birth.  In  the  stormy 
scene  which  followed,  Deane  dared  Mr.  Buckingham  to 
make  use  of  this  knowledge,  and  immediately  after- 
wards his  dupes,  August  Fischer  and  Wallace  Dare, 
began  their  subterranean  crawl  toward  the  laboratory 
in  which  Amos  Buckingham  met  death  at  their  hands! 

"  Something  happened  to  disarrange  their  plans.  Mr. 
Buckingham  unexpectedly  left  the  city,  and  these  mon- 
sters patiently  awaited  his  return.  It  is  evident  that 
Deane  wished  to  be  near  the  spot  so  that  he  might  enjoy 
the  fruition  of  his  plans.  He  was  addressing  a  mass 
meeting  of  the  strikers,  doubtless  for  the  purpose  of 
urging  them  to  more  desperate  resistance  against  their 
employer,  when  the  daughter  of  Fischer  entered  the  hall, 
whispered  something  to  him,  whereupon  he  immediately 
ceased  his  address  and  went  with  her.  For  what  pur- 
pose, gentlemen  of  the  jury  ?  He  had  been  told  that  Mr. 
Buckingham  had  returned!  He  had  been  told  that  the 
hour  was  at  hand  when  the  mine  should  be  fired! 

"  I  must  confess  to  surprise  at  the  audacity  of  this 
step,  and  at  the  one  which  immediately  followed  it. 
Prior  to  this  night  he  had  worked  under  cover,  and  had 
taken  care  to  conceal  his  movements,  but  now  that  the 
hour  was  come  when  his  revenge  should  be  satisfied  he 
threw  caution  to  the  winds.  Fearing  lest  Mr.  Bucking- 
ham should  move  from  the  trap  set  for  him,  Deane  boldly 
rang  the  bell,  summoned  the  servants  and  told  them  to 
warn  Mr.  Buckingham  to  remain  indoors  at  peril  of  his 


THE   GREAT  TRIAL  285 

life  !  Probably  he  assumed  that  on  that  dark  and  stormy 
night  he  would  not  be  recognized  by  the  servants,  but  it 
happened  that  a  reliable  witness  was  there  who  posi- 
tively identified  him.  Less  than  two  minutes  later  the 
dynamite  was  exploded!  " 

Another  demonstration  followed  this  startling  utter- 
ance. An  excited  spectator  sprang  to  his  feet,  shook  his 
fist  at  Deane  and  broke  into  a  torrent  of  invective.  The 
presiding  judge  ordered  him  removed  from  the  building, 
and  threatened  to  clear  the  court  room  if  the  manifesta- 
tion was  repeated. 

Deane  had  entirely  recovered  his  composure.  He 
calmly  took  notes  as  the  prosecutor  proceeded,  and  re- 
turned the  anxious  glance  of  Judge  Sawyer  with  a  smile, 
confident  and  unaffected.  The  brutal-looking  Heine- 
mann  attracted  and  enraged  the  spectators  by  a  defiant 
and  audible  laugh.  A  glance  at  the  stern  faces  of  the 
jurors  evidently  caused  him  to  regret  this  indiscretion, 
and  he  slouched  back  into  his  chair  and  glared  morosely 
at  the  prosecutor  who  continued  as  follows : 

"  The  fact  that  August  Fischer  and  Wallace  Dare 
were  killed,  and  that  Jacob  Stark  and  Annieta  Fischer 
were  severely  injured,  proves  conclusively  that  the  ex- 
plosion was  premature.  Just  how  this  happened  is  not 
relevant  to  this  case.  The  two  who  could  enlighten  you 
on  this  point  are  cold  in  death.  Possibly  Deane  could 
tell  of  it,  but  we  shall  not  expect  him  to  incriminate  him- 
self. It  is  sufficient  for  us  to  know  that  he  went  imme- 
diately from  the  front  gates  of  the  Buckingham  resi- 


286  THE   BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

dence  to  the  basement  of  the  vacant  house,  and  only  one 
conjecture  is  worthy  of  consideration,  viz. :  he  went  there 
to  supervise  the  final  act  in  this  tragedy.  Beyond  doubt 
the  five  principals  intended  that  the  fuse  should  be 
ignited,  after  which  they  would  withdraw  to  a  safe 
place,  later  on  to  join  the  spectators  who  would  be  at- 
tracted by  the  explosion.  Inscrutable  fate  decreed  other- 
wise. 

"  We  make  no  charge  of  cowardice  against  Deane  and 
his  associates — they  stand  indicted  for  murder.  When 
his  comrades  fell  before  that  withering  blast  of  death, 
Stanley  Deane  did  not  desert  them,  but  that  exhibition 
of  brute  courage  will  avail  him  nothing.  He  may  have 
imagined  that  he  was  safe  from  detection,  and  that  in 
the  confusion  he  would  not  be  noticed ;  certain  it  is  that 
he  dragged  the  injured  Jacob  Stark  from  out  that  hell 
hole,  and  took  him  to  his  rooms.  And  there,  with  blood 
on  his  hands  and  on  his  clothes,  the  officers  of  the  law 
found  him  and  arrested  him! 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  there  is  nothing  circumstan- 
tial in  that  damning  array  of  evidence.  It  is  as  direct 
as  the  word  of  truth  from  the  mouth  of  an  honest  man." 

The  prosecutor  then  turned  his  attention  to  a  resume 
of  the  evidence  which  would  be  adduced  against  the 
other  prisoners. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

A  SENSATION  IN  COUKT 

THE  great  trial  consumed  more  than  a  week,  and  only 
a  few  of  its  events  have  a  bearing  on  this  record  of 
strange  events. 

Eminent  medical  experts  testified  that  such  portions 
of  the  body  as  had  been  found  in  the  wrecked  laboratory 
corresponded  to  the  known  measurements  of  Amos  Buck- 
ingham, and  after  listening  to  several  of  these  learned 
gentlemen  the  defence  sprang  a  surprise  by  admitting 
that  a  murder  had  been  committed,  and  that  the  charred 
corpse  was  that  of  the  millionaire  manufacturer. 

Private  Secretary  Peters  and  Detective  Jacoby  were 
the  leading  witnesses  for  the  prosecution,  but  their  testi- 
mony was  reenforced  by  a  host  of  others.  Mr.  Peters 
told  of  overhearing  the  interview  between  Deane  and 
Mr.  Buckingham,  in  which  the  latter  informed  Deane 
that  he  was  possessed  of  the  secret  of  his  adoption. 
There  were  witnesses  who  swore  that  Deane  had  con- 
sented to  the  strike,  others  who  alleged  that  he  had 
strongly  advised  it. 

The  rescue  of  Dare  by  Deane  on  the  night  of  the  riot 
was  fully  brought  out,  also  his  visit  to  The  Well.  Jaeoby 


288  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE  WELL 

testified  that  Deane  had  held  several  prolonged  inter- 
views with  Long  Bill,  but  admitted  that  he  was  unaware 
of  what  was  discussed.  lie  had  also  seen  Deane  in  con- 
versation with  Captain  Jake  Stark. 

The  prosecution  scored  heavily  when  it  produced  a 
check  for  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  signed  by  Deane 
and  made  out  to  Fischer  on  a  date  just  preceding  the 
probable  time  that  work  was  started  on  the  tunnel. 
There  were  also  checks  for  smaller  amounts  which  he 
had  given  to  Dare  on  various  dates,  the  total  amounting 
to  nearly  five  hundred  dollars. 

Numerous  witnesses  told  of  the  arrival  of  Annieta  at 
the  mass  meeting,  of  the  interrupted  address,  and  of 
Deane's  abrupt  departure.  The  coachman  told  of  the 
wild  ride  to  the  Buckingham  mansion,  of  the  explosion 
which  followed  his  master's  disappearance  in  the  narrow 
alley,  and  also  of  driving  to  Deane's  apartments  with 
the  unconscious  body  of  Jake  Stark.  Peters,  Jacoby 
and  the  hall  servant  told  of  Deane's  call  at  the  iron 
gates,  and  of  his  admonition  that  Mr.  Buckingham 
should  not  leave  the  premises. 

A  shadow  of  her  former  self,  Annieta  took  the  stand 
and  timidly  and  brokenly  told  the  facts  already  familiar 
to  the  reader.  The  faces  of  the  juryman  showed  that 
like  the  spectators  they  preferred  to  believe  only  such 
testimony  as  tended  to  prove  the  guilt  of  Deane,  Long 
Bill  and  Jake  Stark,  and  the  prosecution  made  no  mis- 
take in  using  this  innocent  girl  as  a  witness. 

Her  eyes  often  wandered  to  those  of  Deane,  and  his 


A  SENSATION  IN  COURT  289 

encouraging  smile  gave  her  strength  and  courage  to 
stand  the  long  ordeal.  She  did  not  dream  that  her  truth- 
ful story  blackened  the  case  against  the  man  who  was 
her  idol. 

From  the  moment  she  took  the  stand  until  she  was  led 
from  the  room,  Long  Bill's  eyes  were  on  her.  The  cloud 
lifted  from  his  sober  face,  and  a  tender  look  stole  into  it 
as  he  leaned  forward  and  hung  breathless  on  her  every 
word. 

Saxon  opened  for  the  defence,  and  the  brusque  lawyer 
and  pessimist  made  an  effective  address  outlining  the 
testimony  which  would  be  presented  to  prove  the  inno- 
cence of  the  prisoners.  While  he  appeared  specially  for 
Deane,  he  held  that  none  of  them  was  guilty,  and  he 
sounded  the  keynote  of  the  defence  when  he  asserted  that 
it  would  be  proved  that  the  crime  was  conceived  and 
executed  solely  by  August  Fischer  and  Wallace  Dare. 

"  I  shall  prove  that  Stanley  Deane  had  no  knowledge 
of  this  conspiracy  until  a  few  minutes  before  the  dyna- 
mite was  exploded,"  Saxon  declared,  drawing  his  mass- 
ive form  to  its  full  height,  "  and  I  shall  prove  that  in 
attempting  to  thwart  the  crime  he  came  near  sacrificing 
his  own  life.  It  is  true  that  he  lent  money  to  Wallace 
Dare.  I  shall  prove  that  everybody  who  knew  Dare, 
and  who  had  money,  lent  it  to  Dare.  Otherwise  Dare 
would  have  starved  or  committed  suicide.  If  lending 
money  to  Dare  was  a  crime,  I  am  the  most  guilty  man  in 
New  York. 

"  Deane  gave  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  to  August 
19 


2QO  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

Fischer.  Why?  Because  in  the  kindness  of  his  heart 
he  thought  Fischer  needed  it.  At  the  proper  time  I  shall 
tell  why  Mr.  Deane  held  conferences  with  Mr.  Parker, 
and  shall  prove  that  their  meetings  had  nothing  to  do 
with  this  case.  It  is  immaterial  whether  or  not  this 
defendant  is  the  son  of  the  late  Admiral  Deane  of  the 
British  navy.  The  question  is,  did  he  have  anything  to 
do  in  a  guilty  way  with  the  death  of  Amos  Buckingham  ? 
I  shall  prove  that  he  had  every  motive  in  the  world  for 
wishing  the  good-will  of  that  unfortunate  gentleman, 
rather  than  a  conspiracy  for  his  death." 

On  the  fifth  day  of  the  trial  Captain  Jake  Stark  took 
the  stand  in  his  own  defence,  and  a  part  of  his  cross- 
examination  was  as  follows : 

"  When  did  you  first  meet  Stanley  Deane  ?  " 

"  Never  saw  him  in  my  life  until  I  met  him  in  that 
place  they  call  The  Well,  an'  I  only  saw  him  there 
onct." 

"  You  are  sure  of  this,  are  you,  Captain  Stark  ?" 

"  Never  surer  of  anything  in  my  life.  Man  alive !  I 
hadn't  been  in  New  York  before  for  twenty  odd  years ; 
how  could  I  have  seen  him  ?  " 

"  Confine  yourself  to  the  questions,  sir !  On  the 
evening  of  the  twelfth  of  August  of  this  year  you  left 
this  city  for  Boston,  and  did  not  return  until  the  night 
of  the  eighteenth — the  night  of  the  death  of  Amos  Buck- 
ingham. What  did  you  do  -in  Boston  during  that 
period  ? " 

Jake  Stark  looked  blankly  at  the  lawyer,  then  at  the 


A   SENSATION  IN   COURT  291 

judge  and  jury,  and  then  at  a  dignified  and  prosperous- 
appearing  gentleman  to  his  left.  The  latter  had  attended 
every  session  of  the  trial,  and  had  anyone  cared  to  watch 
him,  it  would  have  been  noticed  that  his  eyes  were  fre- 
quently on  the  old  sailor,  who  as  often  returned  the  look. 
The  captain  now  regarded  him  with  a  puzzled  and  ques- 
tioning gaze,  his  bearded  lips  parted  and  his  manner 
indicating  doubt  and  hesitation.  He  was  sharply 
aroused  by  the  lawyer. 

"  Answer  my  question,  sir !  " 

"  I  don't  see  what  my  goin'  tew  Boston  has  got  to  dew 
with  this  here  scrape,"  doggedly  replied  the  captain. 

"  That  is  not  for  you  to  judge.  Give  a  direct  answer 
to  my  question." 

"  I  went  tew  see  Captain  Morse  of  Boston — that 
gentleman  right  there,"  Jake  Stark  said,  pointing  with 
his  finger  to  the  man  with  the  gold  glasses  and  the  iron- 
gray  mustache,  to  whom  he  had  mutely  appealed  a 
moment  before. 

"  What  was  your  business  with  him  ?  " 

The  captain's  eyes  flashed  and  his  teeth  came  together 
with  a  snap. 

"  What  my  business  was  with  him  don't  consarn  you 
nor  anybody  but  him  an'  me !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  an'  if 
you  think  that  you  can  bullirag  me  inter  tellin'  ye,  why, 
you  make  a  mistake,  that's  all !  " 

"  Are  you  aware  that  your  refusal  to  answer  this 
question  may  tend  to  incriminate  you  ?  " 

"I'll   take   chances   on  that,"   said   Captain   Stark 


2Q2 


THE   BOTTOM    OF    THE    WELL 


stoutly.  "  You  can't  criminate  a  man  that  hasn't  done 
anything  but  try  to  save  a  lot  of  dum-gasted  fools  from 
doin'  somethin'  that  he  has  no  use  for !  " 

"  Are  you  an  anarchist  ?  " 

"  Arna-kist  ? "  exclaimed  the  captain  in  fine  scorn. 
"  Arna-kist  ?  I  should  say  not !  I'm  a  Massachusetts 
democrat ;  and  if  you  know  anything  erbout  it,  you  know 
that  a  Massachusetts  democrat  starts  votin'  that  way  and 
keeps  at  it  until  he  dies." 

With  the  exception  of  this  episode,  the  examination  of 
Captain  Stark  and  Long  Bill,  who  followed  him,  brought 
out  no  essential  facts  with  which  the  reader  is  not 
conversant. 

Then  came  the  moment  for  which  the  spectators  had 
eagerly  waited  for  nearly  five  days.  Deane  took  the 
witness  stand  in  his  own  behalf. 

An  involuntary  murmur  ran  through  the  crowded 
court  room  as  his  name  was  called.  He  was  dressed  with 
scrupulous  care,  and  never  did  he  show  to  better  advan- 
tage than  that  afternoon  when  he  raised  his  hand  and 
took  an  oath  to  tell  the  truth.  Even  those  who  had  con- 
victed him  in  advance  felt  at  that  moment  that  he  was 
either  a  consummate  actor  or  a  wrongfully  accused  man. 

On  the  platform  near  the  judge  was  a  group  of  dis- 
tinguished visitors  from  abroad  who  were  privileged  to 
witness  this  climax  in  a  case  which  had  attracted  inter- 
national notice.  Spectators  of  minor  influence  had  been 
forced  to  make  way  for  city  officials,  famous  lawyers, 
professors,  students  of  sociology,  and  others  whose  pres- 


A  SENSATION  IN  COURT  293 

tige  gave  to  them  the  coveted  tickets  to  this  thrilling 
drama. 

Writers  of  national  reputation  had  been  retained  by 
the  newspapers  to  regale  their  readers  with  their  impres- 
sions of  Deane ;  artists  transferred  his  changing  expres- 
sions and  poses  to  their  pads;  the  click  of  invisible 
cameras,  smuggled  in  despite  the  vigilance  of  the  door- 
keepers, was  frequently  heard ;  while  through  the  closed 
doors  came  the  murmur  of  hundreds  of  disappointed 
and  indignant  persons  who  vainly  clamored  for  admis- 
sion. 

The  languor  of  the  jurymen  became  alert  attention. 
They  gazed  at  Deane  as  if  to  read  in  his  eyes,  lips  and 
involuntary  gestures  the  truth  which  might  halt  on  his 
tongue. 

The  placid,  grizzled  and  experienced  Judge  Sawyer 
took  personal  charge  of  the  defence  of  his  former  dis- 
ciple, and  at  his  elbow  was  the  Argus-eyed  and  aggres- 
sive Saxon,  his  normal  sarcasm  suppressed  lest  an  un- 
guarded word  might  imperil  the  fate  of  his  friend.  A 
few  feet  away  stood  Lawyer  Williams,  the  famed  leader 
of  the  prosecution ;  pleased  with  the  triumphant  progress 
of  the  case — smiling,  confident  and  at  ease — but  alert 
as  a  cat  whose  sheathed  claws  are  ready  to  clutch  the 
mouse  which  is  within  his  reach. 

Within  the  court  room  there  was  not  a  sound  when 
Judge  Sawyer  adjusted  his  glasses,  toyed  with  his  watch 
chain  and  looked  first  at  the  jury  and  then  at  Deane. 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  "  he  quietly  asked. 


294  THE   BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

"  The  name  to  which  I  am  legally  entitled  is  Stanley 
Deane,"  replied  the  witness,  in  a  clear,  calm  tone  which 
penetrated  every  part  of  the  room. 

"  How  came  you  by  that  name  ?  " 

"  It  was  given  to  me  by  Rear-Admiral  Deane,  late  of 
the  British  navy.  I  am  his  adopted  son,  and  the  ac- 
knowledged heir  to  his  property." 

"  Do  you  know  the  name  of  your  father  ?  " 

"  I  have  every  reason  to  believe  that  I  do,"  Stanley 
said,  in  a  lower  voice. 

"  Is  that  father  dead  or  living  ?  " 

"  I  believe  him  living." 

"  What  is  his  name  ?  " 

"  His  name  is  Jacob  Stark,  and  he  is  one  of  the  de- 
fendants in  this  case !  " 

Seconds  before  he  pronounced  these  words  there  was 
something  in  the  air  which  held  every  listener  tense  with 
expectancy.  Even  before  his  name  came  from  the  lips 
of  Stanley  Deane,  Captain  Jake  Stark  had  half  arisen 
from  his  chair,  his  homely  face  lighted  with  wonder,  as 
if  he  listened  to  the  echoes  of  a  voice  which  had  sounded 
in  his  ears  in  almost  forgotten  days. 

"  By  God,  it's  Mascot !  "  he  cried,  springing  over  the 
rail  and  brushing  lawyers  and  attendants  aside  in  his 
frantic  rush  to  the  side  of  the  once  sea  waif. 

But  he  was  not  the  first  to  reach  the  witness  chair! 
The  tall,  handsome  and  middle-aged  man  with  the  iron- 
gray  mustache  and  gold  glasses — the  spectator  pointed 
out  as  "  Captain  Morse  of  Boston  "  by  Jake  Stark  only 


A  SENSATION  IN   COURT  2g5 

a  sliort  time  before — this  stranger  to  the  trial  and  to  the 
reader  of  this  narrative,  pushed  forward,  his  face  glori- 
fied with  a  joy  beyond  the  power  of  words  to  express ! 

There  was  a  rush  of  court  officers  to  the  centre  of  this 
remarkable  demonstration,  but  the  presiding  judge  knew 
that  something  unusual  had  developed,  and  arose  and 
motioned  them  back. 

"  My  boy !  My  boy !  "  cried  Captain  Morse,  drag- 
ging the  astounded  Deane  from  the  chair  and  throwing 
his  arms  about  him.  Then  he  held  him  by  the  shoulders, 
and  gazed  with  wet  eyes  into  his  face. 

"  Thank  God  for  this  moment !  "  he  reverently  ex- 
claimed. "  My  boy,  I  am  your  father !  Thank  God  for 
His  mercy  and  goodness !  " 

"  That's  right,  Mascot !  "  roared  Jake  Stark,  slapping 
Deane  on  the  back  and  grasping  one  hand  from  the  clasp 
of  Captain  Morse.  "  That's  right,  Mascot !  This  is 
your  real  dad,  the  one  you  haven't  seen  since  you  was 
knee  high  tew  a  grasshopper !  Say,  captain,  we've  found 
him!  Let's  go  have  something  and  then  we  can  tell 
him  all  erbout  it !  "  and  for  that  moment  the  delighted 
Jake  Stark  was  no  longer  on  trial  for  his  life.  The 
sharp  rapping  of  the  judge's  gavel  awoke  him  unpleas- 
antly from  his  dream. 

"  Order  in  the  court  room !  "  he  said. 

Captain  Morse  turned  to  the  judge  with  a  deferential 
bow. 

"  Your  honor,"  he  began,  in  an  agitated  voice, 
"  this  is  my  son  who  was  lost  to  me  twenty-three  years 


296  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

ago.  I  beg  the  pardon  of  the  court,  but  may  I  speak  to 
him  for  a  moment  ?  " 

"  I  congratulate  you  on  your  happiness,"  the  judge 
said,  with  some  feeling,  "  and  without  prejudice  to  the 
result  of  this  trial,  regret  that  you  have  found  your  son 
amidst  such  an  environment.  It  would  be  unfair  to  the 
witness  to  ask  him  to  proceed  under  these  circumstances, 
and  as  the  hour  for  the  closing  of  the  day's  session  is 
drawing  near,  I  will  entertain  a  motion  for  an  adjourn- 
ment until  to-morrow  morning." 

The  motion  was  made  and  granted,  but  the  dazed  and 
excited  throng  clung  to  their  seats  until  driven  from  the 
room  by  the  court  attendants. 

For  an  hour  or  more  Deane,  Captain  Morse  and  Jake 
Stark  were  permitted  to  talk  in  the  presence  of  guards 
and  of  representatives  of  the  prosecution,  but  the  strange 
story  then  revealed  was  told  more  succinctly  on  the 
stand  the  following  morning,  and  will  be  narrated  in 
that  sequence. 

When  Tom  Harkness  called  at  the  Farnsworth  resi- 
dence that  night  he  was  ushered  into  the  presence  of  two 
very  excited  and  very  happy  young  women.  For  days 
their  conduct  had  mystified  him.  Alice's  gloom  over  the 
death  of  her  father  had  been  succeeded  by  an  attitude 
intended  to  indicate  resignation,  but  even  Harkness's 
unpractised  eyes  detected  the  joy  which  lurked  beneath 
her  studiously  demure  air.  Dolly's  happiness  was  posi- 
tively scandalous,  but  whatever  Tom  may  have  thought 
he  said  nothing. 


A  SENSATION  IN   COURT  297 

They  had  already  learned  something  of  what  had  hap- 
pened in  the  court  room,  but  Tom  had  been  a  witness, 
and  they  deluged  him  with  questions. 

"  How  I  should  have  liked  to  be  there !  "  exclaimed 
Dolly.  "  It  must  have  been  awfully  dramatic !  " 

"  Dramatic !  "  repeated  this  fortunate  bearer  of  news. 
"  Dramatic !  That's  not  the  word  for  it !  It  was  tragic, 
great,  immense !  Talk  about  your  scenes  on  the  stage 
where  the  lost  parent  suddenly  shows  up!  Why,  they 
are  tame  compared  with  this!  Just  think,  Dolly! 
Here's  the  Stanley  Deane  that  we  have  known  for  years 
— and  a  bully  good  fellow  he  is.  He  goes  on  the  stand 
as  the  son  of  Admiral  Stanley  Deane.  Of  course  there 
had  been  hints  made  that  he  was  an  adopted  son,  but 
none  of  us  fellows  believed  a  word  of  it.  The " 

"  We  did ;  didn't  we,  Alice  ?  "  interrupted  Dolly,  so 
full  of  great  secrets  that  her  pretty  lips  positively 
bubbled  over  with  them. 

"  Dolly !  Dolly !  "  warned  Alice,  her  face  furiously 
red. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  tell  a  thing !  "  declared  the  cousin, 
looking  guiltily  to  another  part  of  the  room  and  sup- 
pressing a  giggle  by  a  supreme  effort. 

"  Going  to  tell  a  thing  about  what?  "  demanded  Tom 
Harkness. 

"  Not  a  thing  about  anything,"  firmly  said  the  dainty 
Dolly,  slipping  her  little  hand  into  his.  "  Go  on  with 
your  story,  Tom ;  that's  a  good  fellow  1  " 


298  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you  two  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Tell 
me  what's  up ;  I  can  keep  a  secret." 

"  Nothing !  Nothing !  "  they  asserted  in  chorus,  and 
finding  them  relentless  he  continued  with  his  story. 

"  He  goes  on  the  stand  as  Stanley  Deane,  the  scion  of 
the  aristocratic  English  Deanes.  The  next  minute  he 
says  as  calmly  as  you  please  that  an  old  chap  who  looks 
like  one  of  the  pirates  in  a  picture-book  is  his  father! 
Says  he  is  the  son  of  Jake  Stark,  the  most  desperate 
looking  prisoner  outside  of  that  anarchist  Heinemann! 
Can  you  beat  that  ?  I  nearly  fell  off  my  chair.  Say,  I 
felt  awfully  sorry  for  Stanley  that  minute !  " 

"  But  it  isn't  true ;  the  papers  say  it  isn't  true !  "  in- 
terrupted Dolly. 

"  Of  course  it  isn't  true,"  continued  Harkness.  "  Up 
rushes  a  handsome  looking  man  who  doesn't  look  more 
than  forty-five,  or  fifty,  at  the  most,  and  says  that  he  is 
Stanley's  father.  And,  by  Jove,  he  was !  " 

"  They  say  he's  awfully  rich,"  said  Dolly,  clapping 
her  hands. 

"  And  of  a  fine  old  American  family,"  added  Alice 
Buckingham,  her  face  unnaturally  sedate  but  her  eyes 
radiant.  "  His  name  is  Captain  Morse,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  That's  his  name,"  eagerly  affirmed  Tom,  "  and  I've 
found  out  all  about  him.  "  He's  the  head  of  the  big 
New  England  firm  of  Morse  &  Norcross.  He  owns  a 
steamship  line,  a  chain  of  lumber-mills  in  Maine,  cotton- 
mills  in  Lowell,  two  or  three  banks  and  lots  of  other 


A  SENSATION  IN   COURT  299 

things.  Bradstreet  speaks  very  kindly  about  him.  He 
has  more  money  than  anybody." 

"  That's  nice,"  gasped  Dolly,  with  a  sly  glance  at 
Alice,  "  but  how  about  his  family  ?  " 

"  You  should  see  the  blue  book  about  his  branch  of 
the  Morses,"  said  the  enthusiastic  Harkness.  "  The 
original  Morse  came  over  in  a  private  yacht  ahead  of 
the  Mayflower,  and  they  have  been  running  things 
ever  since.  Instead  of  being  an  orphan,  Stanley  now 
finds  himself  with  a  father,  a  mother,  a  married  sister, 
and  a  younger  one  who  is  one  of  the  belles  of  Boston." 

This  announcement  so  dazed  the  two  girls  that  they 
were  speechless  for  seconds,  and  Dolly  was  the  first  to 
recover. 

"  Perhaps  it  isn't  true,"  she  said  solemnly.  "  How 
could  a  great  big  man  like  Stanley  get  lost  all  these 
years?" 

"  He  was  only  three  years  old  when  he  was  lost," 
smiled  Tom.  "  My  governor  remembers  something  about 
it,  but  it  is  so  long  ago  that  he  has  forgotten  just  what 
happened.  Stanley's  father  spent  thousands  of  dollars 
trying  to  find  him,  but  all  trace  of  him  disappeared  until 
this  afternoon.  I  tried  to  get  in  to  see  him,  but  they 
wouldn't  let  me.  It  will  all  come  out  to-morrow." 

"  Then  his  name  isn't  Stanley  Deane  at  all ! "  ex- 
claimed Dolly,  on  the  verge  of  a  great  discovery  which 
yet  further  complicated  matters.  "  His  name  is  Stanley 
Morse !  I  don't  like  that  half  as  well  as  the  other  name, 
but  I  suppose  it  will  sound  better  when  we  get  used  to  it 


3oo  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE   WELL 

Do  you  like  it,  Alice  ?  "  she  concluded,  looking  archly 
at  her  cousin. 

"  Why  should  his  name  be  Stanley  ? "  Alice  asked, 
ignoring  the  meaning  smile  on  Dolly's  lips. 

"  Why,  indeed  ?  "  echoed  Tom. 

"  Of  course !  "  admitted  the  startled  Dolly.  "  How 
stupid  of  me !  What  do  you  suppose  his  first  name  really 
is  ?  I  hope  it  is  Reginald.  I  think  that  Reginald  is  a 
perfectly  lovely  name  for  a  man." 

"  Well,  you  can  bet  that  it  isn't  Reginald,"  bluntly 
asserted  Tom  Harkness.  "  If  it  isn't  some  plain  Yankee 
name  I'll  buy  both  of  you  all  the  candy  you  can  eat  in  a 
year.  His  father's  name  is  John,  and  I'll  take  odds  that 
Stanley's  name  is  Jack." 

They  spent  hours  discussing  this  and  other  features 
of  the  great  trial.  Alice  was  very  quiet,  but  the  smile 
which  ever  hovered  near  her  lips  and  the  light  which 
lurked  in  her  eyes  were  eloquent  of  the  happiness  which 
possessed  her. 

The  thought  that  he  might  be  convicted  never  entered 
her  pretty  head. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

JAKE  STARK'S  CONFESSION 

BEFORE  Deane  was  called  to  the  stand  on  the  follow- 
ing morning,  Prosecutor  Williams,  addressing  the  court, 
said: 

"  In  the  interests  of  exact  justice  it  is  well  that  the 
jury  shall  be  instructed  to  ignore  the  dramatic  climax 
so  skilfully  arranged  and  acted  by  the  defence  at  the 
close  of  yesterday's  session.  It  matters  little  whether 
the  prisoner  who  was  on  the  stand  at  that  time  be  the 
son  of  the  man  whose  name  he  has  borne,  if  he  be  the 
son  of  Jacob  Stark,  or,  as  it  will  be  claimed,  the  son  of 
the  eminent  and  reputable  Captain  John  C.  Morse  of 
Boston.  The  only  question  is,  did  he  criminally  par- 
ticipate in  the  conspiracy  to  murder  Amos  Bucking- 
ham?" 

"  The  court  concurs  in  the  statement  made  by  the 
prosecution,"  ruled  the  presiding  judge,  "  and  the  jury 
will  be  so  guided  in  their  deliberations  and  in  their  find- 
ings. Call  your  witness,  Judge  Sawyer." 

Under  the  questioning  of  Judge  Sawyer,  Deane  told 
the  story  which  is  familiar  to  us.  He  admitted  having 
advised  the  men  to  strike,  after  having  satisfied  himself 


302  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

of  the  justice  of  their  demands.  He  admitted  having 
had  a  heated  interview  with  Amos  Buckingham  prior 
to  the  probable  time  that  work  was  started  on  the  tunnel, 
but  asserted  that  he  had  no  personal  animus  against  the 
master  of  the  mills. 

Saxon  and  Judge  Sawyer  had  strongly  urged  Deane 
to  permit  them  to  ask  him  questions  which,  in  a  deli- 
cate way,  would  establish  the  fact  that  he  had  met  Alice 
years  before,  that  he  respected  her  highly,  and  that  his 
feelings  toward  her  were  such  as  to  preclude  the  possi- 
bility of  his  conspiring  against  her  father.  Deane  in- 
dignantly refused  to  permit  the  use  of  her  name  in  any 
way,  and  declared  that  if  examined  on  that  point  he 
would  decline  to  answer. 

Weeks  before,  Saxon  had  called  on  Miss  Buckingham, 
and  she  had  eagerly  volunteered  to  be  a  witness,  but 
Saxon  did  not  dare  tell  Deane  of  what  he  had  done. 
Neither  Saxon  nor  Judge  Sawyer  shared  Deane's  ab- 
solute confidence  of  acquittal,  and  urged  him  to  use 
every  point  available  in  his  favor,  but  on  this  issue  their 
client  was  immovable. 

It  was  easy  to  see  that  the  jury  did  not  believe  his 
version  of  the  reasons  for  his  sudden  departure  from  the 
mass  meeting,  his  message  at  the  Buckingham  gates  or 
his  mission  in  the  basement  of  the  vacant  house.  The 
undisputed  fact  that  he  was  there,  and  that  he  had  aided 
the  wounded  Jake  Stark  to  escape,  loomed  more  strongly 
against  him  after  his  testimony  than  before. 

Under  a  merciless  cross-examination  his  uncorrobo- 


JAKE   ST ARK'S   CONFESSION  303 

rated  story  appeared  in  an  even  worse  light,  and  the  lines 
on  Judge  Sawyer's  face  deepened  as  he  interposed  ob- 
jections and  fought  for  every  inch  of  ground.  Saxon 
glared  furiously  at  the  opposing  lawyers,  and  noted  with 
growing  apprehension  the  look  on  the  faces  of  the  jurors ; 
a  look  which,  to  his  trained  eye,  boded  no  good  to  his 
client  and  friend. 

When  Deane  stepped  from  the  stand,  Saxon  called 
him  aside. 

"  Unless  you  do  as  I  tell  you,  this  case  will  go  against 
you,"  he  said  earnestly. 

"  Nonsense !  "  smiled  the  young  reformer. 

"  There's  no  nonsense  about  it,"  soberly  declared  the 
big  lawyer.  "  You  take  my  word  for  it,  those  twelve 
men  believe  right  now  that  you  were  at  the  head  of  the 
conspiracy  to  kill  Buckingham,  and  unless  you  let  us 
call  Miss  Buckingham  to  the  stand  they  will  convict  you. 
Her  simple  word  that  she  is  your  friend,  and  the  infer- 
ence that  she  believes  you  innocent  will  save  you.  Noth- 
ing else  will." 

"  Let  them  convict  me  then !"  replied  Deane  angrily. 
"  With  my  consent  she  shall  not  step  foot  in  this  room 
to  be  the  target  for  the  eyes  of  this  mawkish  mob !  Let 
them  convict  me;  juries  have  convicted  more  innocent 
men." 

He  turned  on  his  heel  and  took  his  seat  with  the  other 
prisoners.  He  did  not  in  the  least  share  Saxon's  fears, 
but  if  he  had  it  would  not  have  altered  his  decision. 

Judge  Sawyer  called  Jake  Stark  to  the  stand,  and  his 


3°4 


THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 


questions  brought  forth  the  following  remarkable  story, 
the  defence  interposing  no  objection  to  its  narration : 

"  Thirty-odd  years  ago  I  made  up  my  mind  that  there 
was  nothin'  in  workin'  on  a  Massachusetts  farm  that 
run  mostly  tew  stones  an'  cider  apples,  an'  so  I  headed 
for  Nantucket  and  looked  erbout  for  a  chance  tew  be- 
come a  sailor,  an'  until  the  last  five  or  six  years  I've 
been  one  more  or  less  ever  since. 

"  I  had  been  at  sailin'  seven  years  or  so  when  I  got  a 
lazy  streak  on.  I  had  a  little  money,  an'  I  felt  like 
loafin'  'round,  like.  It  so  happened  after  I  had  been 
takin'  it  easy  for  a  month  or  so,  that  I  run  across  a  chap 
name  Crapo,  a  Spaniard  or  a  Cuban,  I  don't  know  which 
— they  hung  him  later  at  Manzanillo — an'  he  took  a 
shine  tew  me — I  was  a  pretty  husky  fellow  those  days — 
an'  he  said  he  wanted  a  cook.  If  there  was  anything  I 
thought  I  could  do  in  them  days  it  was  tew  cook,  an' 
when  he  offered  me  ten  dollars  a  month  more'n  I  was 
gettin'  for  reefin'  sails  an'  spinnin'  a  wheel,  why,  I  just 
jumped  at  it,  judge,  an'  gentlemen  of  the  jury. 

"  This  Crapo  had  a  likely  schooner,  fast  as  a  teal 
duck,  an'  a  tough-lookin'  crew  of  twenty  men.  I  soon 
learned  that  Crapo  wasn't  tryin'  tew  get  rich  by  the 
ordinary  slow  methods,  an'  that  his  game  was  smugglin' 
— an'  worse.  I  don't  mind  tellin'  ye,  judge,  that  I 
hadn't  no  religious  scruples  agin'  smugglin'  in  them  days 
— but  I  wouldn't  dew  it  now ;  there's  nothin'  in  it,  an' 
the  new-fangled  kinds  of  graft  has  it  beat  a  mile — but 
this  Crapo  didn't  stop  at  smugglin',  an'  if  I'd  stuck  tew 


JAKE   ST4R1CS   CONFESSION  305 

him  I'd  been  hung  long  ago,  instead  of  bein'  here  in 
l!^ew  York  mixed  up  with  arna-kists  that  I  don't  hardly 
know.  But  as  old  King  Soloman  says,  that's  neither 
here  ner  there. 

"  This  Crapo's  specialty  was  sneakin'  in  close  tew 
some  place  where  a  man  had  a  plantation,  pretendin' 
that  he  was  fishin'  or  makin'  repairs,  an'  then  goin' 
ashore  at  night,  or  any  time  he  had  a  good  chance,  with 
a  yawl  load  of  men,  scarin'  away  the  nigger  servants  and 
holdin'  up  the  owner  for  whatever  he  had  in  the  way  of 
money  or  things  worth  carryin'  back  tew  the  schooner. 
He  was  a  kinder  land  pirate  on  a  sneakin',  picayunish 
scale,  but  he  would  put  up  a  fight  when  he  had  to,  an' 
later  on  he  murdered  a  man  an'  they  nailed  him  fer  it, 
an'  I  saw  him  hangin'  on  a  gallows,  where  the  buzzards 
had  picked  his  bones  clean,  an'  the  sun  had  did  the  rest. 

"  Crapo  never  did  but  one  job  of  that  kind  when  I 
was  with  him,  an'  that's  the  one  I'm  leadin'  up  tew." 

The  testimony  given  later  by  Captain  Morse  properly 
belongs  here,  and  its  essence  is  as  follows : 

"  When  John  C.  Morse — afterwards  Captain  Morse 
— was  twenty-five  years  old,  his  father  died  and  left  to 
him,  with  other  property,  a  fleet  of  sailing  vessels  and  a 
plantation  several  miles  from  Port  Antonio,  on  the  east 
coast  of  the  island  of  Jamaica.  The  birth  of  his  first 
child,  a  son,  left  his  wife  in  poor  health,  and  the  physi- 
cians recommended  a  stay  of  a  few  years  in  a  southern 
latitude.  They  followed  this  advice,  and  took  possession 
of  the  plantation.  Its  situation  was  beautiful  but  iso- 
20 


3o6  THE   BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

lated,  and  from  the  start  Mrs.  Morse  improved  in 
health. 

"  They  took  with  them  a  nurse  and  a  man-servant,  and 
retained  the  services  of  a  number  of  native  laborers  who 
had  worked  for  the  former  tenant. 

"  Mr.  Morse  spent  all  the  time  possible  on  the  planta- 
tion, but  business  compelled  him  to  make  occasional 
trips  to  Kingston,  Boston  and  other  cities  where  he  had 
large  interests.  He  was  on  his  way  to  New  Orleans 
when  Crapo's  gang  made  an  attack  on  his  plantation. 
His  wife  had  gone  to  Port  Antonio  to  make  certain 
purchases,  leaving  the  boy  in  charge  of  his  nurse,  and 
entertaining  no  fears  for  his  safety." 

We  will  let  Jake  Stark  continue  his  testimony,  which 
he  was  permitted  to  do  in  his  own  peculiar  way : 

"  We  anchored  one  night  offshore  erbout  six  miles  or 
so  from  Port  Antonio.  We  had  a  lot  of  stuff  aboard 
that  wasn't  aimin'  tew  pay  no  duty,  an'  I  wondered  why 
we  was  loafin'  'round  there.  It  was  evening  when  we 
dropped  anchor,  an'  when  it  got  dark,  Crapo  an'  one  of 
his  men  rowed  ashore.  There  was  a  plantation  house  in 
from  us,  but  I  paid  no  attention  to  that,  but  I  knew 
afterwards  that  Crapo  was  scoutin'  around  tryin'  tew 
find  how  the  land  lay. 

"  The  next  mornin'  erbout  ten  o'clock  they  lowered 
one  of  the  big  yawls,  and  I  stood  an'  watched  ten  of  'em 
go  ashore.  I  kinder  thought  somethin'  was  up,  but  what 
could  I  do  ?  The  schooner  lay  not  more'n  a  mile  away, 
and  with  a  glass  I  saw  most  everything  that  happened. 


JAKE   STARICS    CONFESSION  307 

They  made  a  rush  for  the  house,  an'  I  saw  smoke  cum 
from  a  window,  an'  then  I  heard  the  crack  of  a  gun. 
Crapo  dropped  with  a  slug  in  his  shoulder,  but  he  jumps 
up  agin,  and  there  was  a  lot  of  shootin'  after  that. 

"  I  could  see  niggers  runnin'  in  every  direction,  but 
of  course  I  couldn't  tell  what  was  goin'  on  in  the  house, 
but  I  had  a  mighty  close  idee.  Later  on  I  saw  Crapo'a 
men  luggin'  stuff  down  tew  the  beach  an'  loadin'  it  intew 
the  yawl,  an'  just  before  they  pulled  off  from  shore  I 
saw  smoke  an'  flame  burst  through  the  roof  of  that  there 
house. 

"  When  they  cum  'longside,  I  saw  that  they  had  a  lot 
of  plunder,  but  what  caught  my  eye  more'n  anything 
else  was  a  little  chap  erbout  three  years  old,  I  should  say. 
He  wasn't  cryin'  but  he  looked  scared  like,  an'  ye  could 
hardly  blame  him.  Crapo  was  covered  with  blood,  an' 
swearin'  in  three  languages.  They  passed  the  little  fel- 
low up  tew  me,  an'  I  called  him  '  Mascot '  right  then  an' 
there.  That's  him  there,"  pointing  to  Stanley  Deane, 
"  an'  he's  the  son  of  Captain  Morse,  who  owned  the 
plantation,  an'  who — as  I  found  out  years  after — wasn't 
there  at  the  time. 

"  One  of  the  men  told  me  later  that  they  killed  the 
owner,  the  only  white  man  who  was  erbout  the  place, 
but  it  was  the  overseer,  an'  Captain  Morse  tells  me  that 
two  of  the  niggers  was  afterwards  found  dead  in  the 
woods.  Crapo  didn't  lose  no  time  in  pullin'  up  anchor 
and  lightin'  out,  but  he  didn't  make  no  money  on  that 
job. 


3o8  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

"  One  of  the  niggers  didn't  stop  runnin'  till  he  got  to 
Port  Antonio,  an'  as  soon  as  he  got  his  breath  he  told 
what  had  happened.  There  was  a  little  revenue  boat  in 
the  harbor,  an'  she  lit  out  after  us.  We  had  quite  a 
start,  but  the  wind  died  down,  an'  when  Crapo  saw  that 
she  would  overhaul  us  he  got  as  white  as  he  could  under 
his  yellow  skin.  He  had  calculated  tew  kidnap  the  little 
chap  for  a  big  ransom,  but  when  he  saw  that  we  was 
goin'  tew  be  caught,  he  was  fer  killin'  him  an'  chuckin' 
him  overboard.  I  shoved  a  gun  in  his  nose  an'  told  him 
he'd  better  begin  on  me,  an'  then  he  changed  his  mind. 

"  It  cum  on  dark  when  the  revenue  boat  was  a  mile  or 
so  away,  an'  Crapo  headed  in  for  the  beach  an'  got  the 
boats  ready  tew  lower.  A  solid  shot  caught  us  in  the 
stern,  carried  away  the  rudder,  an'  ripped  a  hole  in  her 
like  stickin'  a  hot  poker  in  a  toy  balloon.  There  was 
quite  a  swell  on,  an'  it  was  every  man  fer  himself.  I 
kept  my  eye  on  Mascot.  Another  chap  an'  I  was  lowerin' 
a  boat,  when  Crapo  threw  a  chest  an'  some  grub  an' 
other  stuff  intew  it,  an'  told  us  to  wait  until  he  cum 
back.  We  didn't  wait,  judge  an'  gentlemen  of  the  jury. 
As  we  poked  out  intew  the  blackness  of  that  night  I  saw 
Crapo  standin'  on  the  deck,  an'  I  wouldn't  dare  tell 
you  what  he  said. 

"  He  got  intew  another  boat,  an'  managed  tew  get 
ashore  an'  save  his  miserable  hide  fer  the  time  bein', 
but,  as  I've  said,  they  got  him  later  and  hung  him  out 
tew  bleach  in  the  old  jail  yard  of  Manzanillo. 

"  We  headed  up  the  coast,  rowin'  like  blazes  fer  houri, 


JAKE  ST ARK'S   CONFESSION  309 

an'  'long  towards  midnight  we  struck  intew  a  lagoon, 
and  our  yawl  hadn't  grinded  on  the  beach  a  minute 
before  the  chap  who  was  with  me  started  out  overland, 
leaving  Mascot  an'  me  alone.  We  found  a  good  place 
tew  hide,  an'  we  stayed  there  a  week,  livin'  on  whatever 
we  had  or  we  could  pick  up. 

"  I  pried  open  the  chest  that  Crapo  had  tossed  intew 
the  boat  just  before  we  parted  from  him,  an'  in  it  was 
erbout  six  thousand  dollars  in  money  an'  a  lot  of  jewelry, 
some  of  which,  I  reckon,  belongs  tew  Captain  Morse. 
I'v  got  it  yet,  an'  when  I  get  out  of  this  here  scrape,  I'm 
goin'  tew  give  it  back  tew  him. 

"  Mascot  an'  I  got  along  fine  together,  an'  after  a  few 
days  he  didn't  seem  to  miss  his  father  an'  mother  much. 
He  was  only  a  child,  ye  know,  and  not  old  enough  tew 
remember  things  very  long.  There  was  a  small  spar  an' 
a  lugger  sail  in  the  yawl,  an'  one  night  when  the  wind 
was  blowin'  steady  from  the  west  we  headed  out  to  sea 
an'  pointed  for  Cuba.  It  was  a  run  of  a  hundred  and 
twenty  miles  or  so,  and  if  the  wind  had  held  true  we 
would  have  made  it  in  a  day,  but  as  it  was  we  were  out 
two  nights,  landin'  early  the  second  morning  a  few  miles 
from  Santiago.  I  knew  the  town  all  right,  an'  went  to 
a  place  kept  by  a  friend  of  mine,  an'  there  we  stayed 
under  cover  fer  a  month  or  more. 

"  I  supposed  that  Mascot's  father  had  been  killed,  an' 
most  likely  his  mother.  If  I  gave  him  up  it  would  get 
me  intew  trouble,  besides  I  had  come  to  like  the  little 
chap  as  if  he  had  been  my  own  son.  I  had  done  nothin' 


3io  THE  BOTTOM   OF    THE    WELL 

wrong;  more'n  that  I  had  a  sorter  claim  on  him,  seein' 
that  I  had  saved  his  life  from  that  Crapo.  Of  course  I 
could  have  cut  loose  from  Mascot,  an'  took  chances  that 
some  of  his  relatives  would  find  him,  but  I  couldn't 
think  of  doin'  a  thing  like  that,  so  Mascot  an'  me  had  to 
stick  together  fer  better  or  worse.  He  seemed  satisfied, 
an'  so  was  I. 

"  With  the  money  I  found  in  Crapo's  chest  I  bought  a 
little  schooner  called  the  Frolic.  Crapo  didn't  know 
me  by  my  right  name,  an'  besides  I  wasn't  worryin' 
much  about  him,  but  I  let  my  beard  grow  so  as  tew  give 
me  more  dignity  as  captain  of  one  of  the  best  little  boats 
that  ever  carried  a  bone  in  her  teeth.  Then  Mascot  an' 
me  went  intew  business,  an'  after  we  had  been  at  it  a 
year  or  so  we  hired  Long  Bill  Parker  fer  first  mate. 

"  I  always  had  it  in  mind  to  find  out  about  Mascot's 
parents,  an'  tew  tell  him  what  I  knew  about  who  he 
really  was — when  he  got  old  enough  tew  take  care  of 
himself — but  the  bigger  he  got  the  more  I  liked  him,  an' 
I  kept  puttin'  it  off  an'  puttin'  it  off  until  it  was  tew 
late.  When  we  was  in  ports  I  kept  him  below  decks 
except  at  night  times,  but  he  thought  that  just  as  natural 
as  everything  else,  an'  we  got  along  fine. 

"  When  Mascot  was  erbout  twelve  years  old  I  had  a 
row  with  a  no-account  Dago  named  '  Hungry  Joe,'  an' 
tew  get  even  with  me  he  told  the  authorities  that  I  was 
smugglin';  and  one  fine  night  the  Frolic  an'  all  of 
us  but  one  was  captured  by  the  British  gunboat,  the 
Alexander.  They  took  us  tew  Kingston,  an'  that's  the 


JAKE   STORK'S    CONFESSION  3II 

last  I  ever  saw  of  Mascot,  an'  you  know  the  story  of 
what  happened  tew  him.  Long  Bill  an'  me  an'  the  rest 
of  us  was  put  in  a  new  jail,  but  knowin'  the  prejudice 
of  the  Britishers  against  us  Yankees  we  thought  it  better 
to  head  off  a  trial,  so  we  broke  out  the  first  night,  an' 
you  ain't  interested  in  my  adventures  for  most  of  the 
years  that  followed. 

"  I  could  get  no  trace  of  Mascot,  an'  finally  drifted 
down  to  the  Argentine  where  I  went  in  fer  sheep  raisin', 
and  made  more  money  in  six  years  that  I  could  in  sailin' 
in  a  hundred.  When  I  had  made  my  pile  an'  got  more 
respectable  than  I  ever  thought  possible,  my  conscience 
began  tew  trouble  me  erbout  Mascot  and  his  parents. 
So  I  put  my  affairs  in  shape  an'  started  north.  The 
first  place  I  headed  fer  was  Port  Antonio,  an'  I  hired  a 
rig  an'  drove  out  tew  the  plantation  that  Crapo  had 
sacked  twenty-three  years  before. 

"  I  pretended  that  I  wanted  tew  buy  it,  an'  you  can 
bet  your  life,  judge,  that  I  looked  like  a  man  who  could 
buy  all  the  plantations  from  Port  Antonio  tew  St.  Ann's 
Bay.  I  didn't  look  like  no  cook,  but  I  wasn't  proud,  an' 
I  was  a  bit  scared  even  then.  I  found  that  the  man  who 
owned  it  had  bought  it  only  a  few  years  before,  an'  after 
askin'  a  lot  of  questions  I  learned  that  a  man  named 
Morse  had  owned  it  the  last  time  I  saw  it.  From  the 
records  in  Port  Antonio  I  learned  that  his  full  name  was 
John  C.  Morse,  but  nobody  knew  where  he  was,  or 
whether  he  was  dead  or  alive.  It  Couldn't  do  tew  ask 


3i2  THE   BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

tew  many  questions,  so  I  decided  tew  wait  until  I  struck 
New  York. 

"  The  first  thing  I  did  after  finding  Long  Bill  an' 
them  arna-kists  who  are  dead,  was  to  advertise  for  this 
Captain  Morse,  an'  I  got  a  letter  from  him  sayin'  that 
he  was  in  Boston  an'  would  be  glad  tew  see  me.  I  went 
there,  told  him  the  truth,  just  as  I  have  told  you,  an'  I 
also  told  him  that  I  had  good  reasons  tew  believe  that 
Mascot  was  in  England.  We  arranged  that  I  was  tew 
come  back  to  New  York,  that  he  should  come  on  from 
Boston,  an'  that  we  should  sail  from  here  to  London  an' 
start  on  a  hunt  for  his  lost  son. 

"  When  Captain  Morse  got  here  I  had  been  blown  up 
by  dynamite.  I'd  heered  lots  about  that  stuff,  but  that's 
the  first  time  I  ever  saw  it  in  action,  an'  I  want  tew  say 
right  now  that  it  ain't  a  weapon  that  Mascot,  nor  me  nor 
no  other  gentleman  would  use. 

"  That's  my  story,  judge  an'  gentlemen  of  the  jury. 
If  you  want  tew  try  me  fer  being  a  dummed  fool,  or  fer 
playin'  in  hard  luck,  why,  I  plead  guilty;  but  as  fer 
bein'  an'  arna-kist,  I  want  tew  say  right  now  that  you've 
got  the  wrong  man,  an'  ye  can  bet  all  you've  got  on  it." 

Captain  Stark's  narrative  made  an  evident  impres- 
sion on  the  audience  and  the  jury, but  so  far  as  the  latter 
was  concerned  the  effect  was  dissipated  by  the  argument 
made  by  the  leader  of  the  prosecution  in  his  masterly 
closing  address.  In  it  Mr.  Williams  said: 

"  The  romantic  episodes  in  the  early  life  of  the  pris- 
oner Stanley  Deane — or  John  S.  Morse,  as  is  now 


JAKE   STAR  1C S    CONFESSION  313 

claimed  is  his  rightful  name — have  not  the  slightest 
bearing  on  the  establishing  of  the  innocence  of  that  per- 
son. The  prosecution  is  not  disposed  seriously  to  chal- 
lenge the  truth  of  the  interesting  story  told  by  Jacob 
Stark,  neither  does  it  question  the  proofs  proffered  by 
Captain  Morse  intended  to  establish  the  fact  that  the 
prisoner  is  the  son  who  was  stolen  from  him  twenty- 
three  years  ago. 

"  The  question  is,  did  Stanley  Deane  conspire  to  kill 
Amos  Buckingham  ?  We  have  proved  beyond  a  reason- 
able doubt  that  he  did.  The  jury  must  sternly  disregard 
the  glamour  which  has  been  cast  over  this  prisoner.  His 
personality  is  not  a  dual  one,  but,  if  I  may  use  the  term, 
a  quadruple  one.  He  has  lived  four  lives,  and  his  acts 
have  been  inspired  by  the  impressions  and  the  training 
received  in  each  and  all  of  them. 

"  From  his  estimable  father  and  gentle  mother — from 
whom  we  cannot  withhold  our  sincere  pity — he  inherited 
admirable  mental  and  physical  traits;  traits  which 
under  most  circumstances  would  have  served  him  in 
good  stead.  But  it  was  his  fate  in  childhood  to  fall  into 
the  hands  of  a  rough,  ignorant  and  immoral  man — a 
kindly  and  well-intentioned  man  to  the  best  of  his  lights 
—but  one  ill-fitted  to  rear  a  boy  of  high  spirit.  What 
was  the  consequence  ?  During  the  formative  period  in 
the  life  of  this  prisoner  he  was  in  a  vicious  environment. 
From  him  was  withheld  the  gentle  and  restraining  in- 
fluence of  a  mother.  He  became  accustomed  to  scenes  of 
violence,  to  vulgar  and  profane  language,  and  to  the 


3i4  THE   BOTTOM   OF    THE    WELL 

semi-savage  life  on  board  a  vessel  which  was  little  else 
than  a  smuggler. 

"  Thus  it  was  that  his  young  blood  became  poisoned 
with  this  taint  of  lawlessness,  this  virus  of  anarchy.  By 
a  miraculous  chance  he  came  under  the  care  of  an  Eng- 
lish gentleman  of  means  and  culture,  and  all  that  school- 
ing and  training  could  do  for  him  was  lavished  on  him 
by  the  man  who  gave  him  a  name,  the  love  of  a  father 
and  a  fortune. 

"  But  beneath  the  veneer  of  erudition  and  culture  was 
the  savage  who  had  been  nurtured  on  the  decks  of  the 
lawless  Frolic.  So  long  as  his  foster-father  lived, 
Deane  observed  the  conservative  conventions  of  society, 
but  even  as  he  sat  within  the  hallowed  halls  of  Oxford, 
his  mind  rebelled  against  the  codes  and  ethics  of  our 
modern  civilization.  He  began  the  study  of  law  and  of 
political  economy.  For  what  purpose  ?  Did  he  bend  his 
mind  to  these  studies  so  as  to  fit  himself  to  become  the 
defender  of  property  rights  against  those  who  wage 
ceaseless  war  on  the  conservative  bulwarks  of  our  civil- 
ization ?  He  did  not. 

"  Even  before  the  demise  of  his  foster-father,  Deane 
had  determined  to  use  the  wealth  which  would  come  to 
him  with  that  death,  as  a  weapon  with  which  to  wage 
relentless  war  against  society.  The  frank  savagery  of 
the  boy  Mascot  had  been  transfused  into  the  suave 
savagery  of  the  man  who  termed  himself  a  '  social  re- 
former,' but  who,  like  most  others  of  that  cult,  aimed  to 
be  a  social  demolisher. 


JAKE   ST4RJCS    CONFESSION  315 

"  In  New  York  he  gravitated  naturally  to  an  alliance 
with  and  the  leadership  of  the  radical  element.  He  held 
a  place  in  society  only  because  it  gave  him  a  better  lever- 
age to  accomplish  its  final  overthrow.  In  Fischer  and 
Dare  he  found  congenial  companions,  and  in  the  dark 
depths  of  The  Well  he  found  the  atmosphere  for 
which  he  had  longed.  This  was  the  fourth  stage  of  his 
career,  and  if  this  jury  does  its  duty,  it  will  be  his  last. 

"  It  is  idle  to  inquire  what  would  have  been  his 
destiny  had  not  fate  decreed  that  the  formative  years  of 
his  life  should  be  spent  with  such  characters  as  Jake 
Stark,  the  smuggler,  and  t  Long  Bill/  his  assistant.  Be- 
yond doubt  he  would  have  become  an  honored  member  of 
society,  a  defender  of  its  traditions  and  institutions; 
but  fate  ordained  otherwise,  and  it  is  the  duty  of  this 
jury  to  punish  him  for  what  he  has  done,  and  not  to 
speculate  on  what  might  have  been  his  career  had  the 
cards  of  his  fortune  fallen  differently. 

"  The  charred  body  of  Amos  Buckingham  cries  out, 
not  for  revenge,  but  for  justice!  We  ask  for  a  death 
sentence  on  Stanley  Deane  and  his  associates,  not  that 
the  score  may  be  evened,  but  that  the  fate  of  these  pris- 
oners may  serve  as  a  warning  for  all  time  against  those 
who  stir  up  class  hatred,  and  who,  when  thwarted,  turn 
instinctively  to  violence,  rebellion,  sedition,  treason  and 
the  dynamite  bomb !  " 

All  save  two  of  the  fourteen  prisoners  cowered  before 
the  merciless  lashing  of  the  prosecuting  attorney,  even 
Long  Bill  shrinking  back  into  his  chair  as  if  menaced 


3i6  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

by  a  doom  from  which  there  was  no  escape,  but  Deane 
listened  with  the  calm  attentiveness  of  a  law  student, 
anxious  to  take  lessons  in  the  science  of  sophistry,  with- 
out which  monetary  success  in  that  profession  is  difficult 
of  attainment. 

No  less  attentive  was  Rudolph  Heinemann,  but  his 
was  a  different  attitude — one  of  amused  and  defiant 
scorn.  As  the  trial  neared  its  close,  the  sneer  habitual 
to  his  face  became  more  mocking,  and  his  insolent  con- 
tempt for  the  proceedings  did  much  to  prejudice  jury 
and  audience  against  all  the  alleged  conspirators. 

The  testimony  against  Heinemann  was  direct  and 
damaging.  Unloaded  dynamite  bombs  of  novel  con- 
struction had  been  found  in  his  room,  and  on  his  person 
were  letters  and  documents  indicating  beyond  reasonable 
doubt  his  alliance  with  force  anarchy.  He  refused  to 
retain  a  lawyer,  and  the  court  assigned  one  to  him.  He 
also  refused  to  take  the  stand  in  his  own  defence,  and 
the  only  sounds  which  escaped  his  lips  were  occasional 
gruff  laughs  and  other  manifestations  indicative  of  open 
scorn  and  recklessness.  The  public  did  not  question  his 
fate. 

The  time  arrived  when  the  closing  arguments  were 
finished,  and  when  the  judge  arose  and  read  his  instruc- 
tions to  the  jury.  Disinterested  experts  asserted  that  his 
charge  was  decidedly  favorable  to  Stanley  Deane;  cer- 
tain it  is  that  Saxon  and  Judge  Sawyer  listened  with 
satisfaction,  and  at  the  close  warmly  congratulated  their 
young  and  confident  client. 


JAKE  STARK'S   CONFESSION  317 

"Unless  that  jury  consists  of  twelve  idiots,  it  will 
never  convict  you,  after  that  charge,"  whispered  Saxon. 

"  I  have  not  worried  for  a  moment,"  smiled  Deane. 
"  You  made  a  grand  speech,  Saxon ;  a  wonderful  speech, 
old  man,  and  I  don't  know  how  to  thank  you." 

"  I  could  have  made  a  better  one  in  The  Well," 
growled  Saxon. 

"  It  looks  very  favorable,  my  boy,"  softly  said  Judge 
Sawyer,  as  the  jury  filed  out  of  the  room.  "  Williams 
overreached  when  he  called  you  a  '  savage/  But  he 
made  a  very  effective  address.  It  would  be  the  making 
of  him  to  win  this  case ;  he  has  set  his  heart  on  it." 

"  Perhaps  I  should  be  glad  of  this  chance  to  immolate 
myself  on  the  altar  of  his  ambitions,"  Deane  said 
lightly. 

"  I  cannot  consent  to  it,  my  boy,"  the  old  lawyer 
replied.  "We  will  let  Williams  climb  to  fame  some 
other  way." 

"  I  shall  be  free  in  less  than  two  hours,"  Deane  said, 
as  the  officers  motioned  the  prisoners  to  return  to  their 
cells  pending  the  finding  of  the  verdict.  "  I  insist  that 
my  attorneys  be  my  dinner  guests  to-night." 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  VERDICT! 

STRANGE  as  it  may  seem,  the  happiest  hours  Stanley 
Deane  had  known  were  those  spent  in  his  cell  and  dur- 
ing the  trial  for  his  life. 

In  that  brief  time  there  had  come  to  him  the  knowl- 
edge that  the  woman  he  loved  believed  in  him  and  re- 
turned that  love.  More  than  that,  the  shadows  which 
had  shrouded  his  life  were  lifted.  His  father  lived, 
honored  and  respected.  His  mother  lived,  and  he  had 
two  sisters  who  had  been  born  after  he  was  stolen  from 
the  Jamaica  plantation. 

These  three  were  abroad  on  a  pleasure  jaunt,  and 
Captain  Morse  dreaded  lest  news  of  the  discovery  of  his 
lost  son  should  reach  them  prior  to  his  acquittal  of  the 
awful  charge  which  had  been  made  against  him.  Al- 
ready they  had  penned  the  joyous  message  which  should 
be  sent  to  them,  and  planned  the  trip  which  should  be 
made  to  them  at  the  earliest  opportunity. 

His  father  had  sent  to  Boston  for  photographs  of 
Deane's  mother  and  of  his  two  charming  sisters,  and  as 
he  looked  at  them  for  the  hundredth  time  it  seemed  that 
the  happiness  which  was  his  was  too  great  to  be  true. 


THE   VERDICT!  3IQ 

The  fact  that  his  life  trembled  in  the  balance  did  not 
weigh  an  atom  in  the  scales  against  Alice's  love,  his 
birthright  of  an  honored  name,  and  his  glorious  heritage 
of  a  real  mother  and  two  real  sisters,  and  a  father,  whose 
younger  image  he  was. 

Such  were  his  thoughts  as  he  waited  in  his  cell  for  the 
word  which  should  summon  him  to  the  court  room  to 
hear  the  verdict  which  should  make  him  free  to  taste 
the  splendid  pleasures  of  his  new  life.  He  looked  at  his 
watch.  An  hour  had  passed. 

He  feared  for  Long  Bill.  The  conviction  of  the  un- 
known Heinemann  was  almost  certain.  Doubtless  he 
was  some  associate  of  the  crazed  Fischer,  and  he  feared 
that  his  guilt  might  imperil  Long  Bill  and  possibly  Jake 
Stark.  Very  likely  the  jury  was  wrangling  over  the 
degree  of  their  complicity  in  the  conspiracy,  and  though 
Deane  knew  of  their  absolute  innocence,  he  was  aware 
that  there  was  a  chain  of  circumstantial  evidence  against 
them  and  him.  The  case  against  the  other  ten  prisoners 
had  fallen  to  the  ground,  and  the  prosecution  had  ad- 
mitted as  much. 

Another  half  hour  passed,  and  then  two  hours  dragged 
by.  He  had  impatiently  lighted  a  fresh  cigar  when  the 
guard  appeared  at  his  cell  door,  opened  it  and  led  the 
way  to  the  court  room. 

The  jury  was  in  its  place.  The  vast  throng  of  spec- 
tators gazed  silently  at  the  twelve  men,  striving  to  read 
in  their  faces  the  mystery  of  death  or  freedom  which 
was  locked  in  their  breasts  but  trembling  on  their  lips. 


320 


THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 


Deane  glanced  at  them  and  then  at  Judge  Sawyer  and 
Saxon.  His  attorneys  were  absorbed  in  their  study  of 
the  jury,  and  on  the  expressive  face  of  Saxon  was  a  look 
of  foreboding  which  sent  a  chill  to  Deane's  heart. 
He  looked  about  for  his  father. 

Like  a  man  condemned  to  death,  Captain  Marsh 
stared  at  the  twelve  men.  His  face  was  ashen  and  drawn, 
and  his  hand  trembled  as  he  raised  it  to  his  bloodless 
lips.  He  turned  his  eyes  to  his  son,  and  in  them  was  a 
horror  which  was  accentuated  by  his  ghastly  attempt  to 
smile  encouragement. 

The  presiding  judge  tapped  lightly  with  his  gavel, 
but  no  such  signal  was  necessary.  Like  runners  poised 
for  a  race,  the  representatives  of  a  score  of  papers  were 
ready  to  speed  the  verdict  to  their  respective  head- 
quarters. Thousands  of  people  were  massed  in  the 
streets  below,  and  their  murmur  came  through  the 
opened  windows,  mingled  with  strident  cries — the  rau- 
cous note  of  the  mob,  its  jaded  appetite  for  sensations 
stimulated  at  the  prospect  of  blood. 

Something  caused  Deane  to  look  to  the  far  corner  of 
the  silent  room,  and  there  he  saw  Alice. 

Her  eyes  were  on  him,  and  as  he  gazed  into  them  they 
lighted  with  a  flame  which  filled  him  with  rapture.  No 
doubt  of  his  innocence  sullied  their  clear  depths,  but 
there  was  something  in  her  smile,  and  in  the  expression 
of  her  lips  which  he  could  not  understand.  It  was  as  if 
she  was  trying  to  convey  to  him  some  voiceless  message, 


THE   VERDICT!  32I 

but  all  that  it  told  him  was  of  her  love  and  confidence, 
and  that  was  enough. 

!Next  to  Alice  was  Dolly,  her  blue  eyes  large  with  an 
excitement  which  made  her  look  more  than  ever  like  a 
radiantly  beautiful  wax  doll,  and  near  her  were  her 
father  and  mother.  Why  were  they  there  ?  Were  they 
so  sure  of  his  acquittal  that  they  wished  to  share  in  his 
triumph  ?  He  marvelled  that  Alice  should  care  to  wit- 
ness the  closing  scene  in  the  trial  of  the  man  accused  of 
the  murder  of  her  father,  and  then  he  thought  it  strange 
that 

"  Has  the  jury  agreed  on  a  verdict  ? "  slowly  asked 
the  judge. 

"  We  have,  your  honor  \  "  replied  the  tall  foreman  of 
the  twelve. 

"  Do  you  find  the  defendants  innocent  or  guilty  ?  " 

"  The  jury  finds  Stanley  Deane  and  Rudolph  Heine- 
mann  guilty  of  murder  in  the  first  degree,  Jacob  Stark 
and  William  Parker  guilty  of  murder  in  the  second 
degree,  and  affirms  the  innocence  of  the  ten  others 
charged  with  a  part  in  this  conspiracy  to  kill  Amos 
Buckingham.  The  jury  begs  leave  to  offer  a  plea  for 
mercy  in  the  case  of  Jacob  Stark." 

Of  the  tempestuous  demonstration  which  followed 
Deane  saw  or  heard  little.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on  a 
little  figure  in  black  in  the  far  corner  of  the  room.  Her 
eyes  flashed  anger  at  the  cheering  and  swaying  mob,  but 
when  she  looked  at  him  and  caught  his  glance,  she  waved 
her  hands  recklessly  at  him,  her  features  flushed  and 
21 


322  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

triumphant,  as  if  he  were  her  champion — a  champion 
who  had  been  acclaimed  a  victor  on  a  hard-fought  field ; 
not  a  felon  about  to  be  sentenced  to  an  ignoble  death 
for  a  fiendish  crime ! 

Alice  started  to  go  toward  him,  and  had  gained  the 
aisle,  pushing  burly  men  aside  in  her  eagerness  to  reach 
the  side  of  the  man  she  loved,  when  David  Farnsworth 
detained  her,  and  after  some  persuasion  led  her  back. 

And  Deane  was  happy!  She  loved  him  even  then! 
In  all  that  crowded  room  there  was  no  one  else  that  he 
knew  who  was  not  bowed  down  with  despair.  It  was 
enough  for  him  that  her  faith  and  her  devotion  held  true 
in  this  dread  crisis. 

"  We  lose  the  first  trick,  my  boy,  but  the  game  is 
young,"  he  heard  Themistocles  Saxon  say,  and  felt  the 
firm  pressure  of  his  hand. 

"  The  case  is  full  of  errors,  and  we  shall  have  no 
trouble  in  getting  a  new  trial  and  an  acquittal,"  Judge 
Sawyer  soothingly  declared,  placing  his  hand  on  Deane's 
shoulder. 

"  Don't  lose  courage,  my  son,"  his  father  said,  the 
light  of  battle  in  his  eyes.  He  had  recovered  from  the 
shock,  and  his  form  was  erect  and  his  voice  resolute. 

"  I'm  disappointed,  but  not  in  the  least  disheartened," 
Deane  replied,  and  his  manner  proved  the  truth  of  his 
words. 

Of  the  incidents  which  crowded  into  the  following 
minutes  he  has  only  a  vague  recollection.  If  his  heart 
sank  within  him  for  an  instant  he  had  only  to  look  at  a 


THE   VERDICT!  323 

loved  face  in  the  far  corner  of  the  room,  and  in  her 
brave  eyes  and  proud  lips  he  read  something  which 
thrilled  him  with  a  strange  but  unwavering  hope. 

The  jury  was  polled,  the  usual  motion  for  a  new  trial 
made,  and  then  calling  the  four  convicted  prisoners  by 
name,  the  judge  told  them  to  rise.  With  measured  de- 
liberation he  thus  addressed  them : 

"  After  a  trial  in  which  you  have  had  the  benefit  of 
the  services  of  able  counsel,  and  in  which  the  defence 
has  been  allowed  the  widest  possible  latitude  in  the  in- 
troduction of  testimony,  a  jury  has  adjudged  you  guilty 
of  participation  in  a  conspiracy  which  resulted  in  the 
death  of  Amos  Buckingham.  Have  you  now  anything 
to  say  why  the  sentence  of  the  court  should  not  be  pro- 
nounced against  you  ? " 

All  eyes  were  directed  to  Stanley  Deane,  Jake  Stark, 
Long  Bill  and  Rudolph  Heinemann. 

"  I  have,  your  honor !  " 

The  speaker  was  Rudolph  Heinemann,  and  his  deep 
and  resonant  voice  filled  the  court  room  before  the  echoes 
of  the  judge's  last  word  had  died  away. 

Those  who  had  followed  the  trial  looked  at  the  almost 
unknown  prisoner  with  amazement.  For  a  week  occa- 
sional glances  had  been  directed  at  this  detested  char- 
acter. He  had  slouched  in  his  chair,  a  stoop-shouldered, 
unkempt,  defiant  figure,  garbed  in  an  ill-fitting  suit  of 
gray.  His  sneers  and  growled  comments  had  led  one 
writer  to  characterize  him  as  "  a  trapped  hyena,"  and 


324 


THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 


not  a  throb  of  pity  was  felt  when  the  jury  decreed  him 
guilty. 

Was  this  the  same  man  ?  Was  this  the  execrated  for- 
eign anarchist  whose  wordless  jibes  had  mocked  the 
court  ? 

Until  that  moment  Deane  had  monopolized  the  atten- 
tion of  the  morbid  throng;  now  Rudolph  Heinemann 
held  the  centre  of  the  stage — and  he  held  it  majestically ! 

His  tall  and  massively  proportioned  figure  was  garbed 
in  a  suit  of  black,  perfectly  fitting,  and  of  the  finest 
material.  His  broad  shoulders  were  thrown  back,  and 
on  the  hand  of  his  extended  arm  gleamed  a  ring  of  ex- 
quisite design  and  setting.  His  pose  was  commanding, 
almost  domineering  in  its  dignity.  His  cold  eyes  were 
ablaze  with  a  power  which  yet  held  something  in  reserve. 
The  beard  of  ten  days'  growth  had  disappeared,  and  the 
thin  lips  were  compressed  above  a  firm-set  chin  in  an 
expression  which  revealed  implacable  and  relentless 
determination. 

"  I  have,  your  honor !  "  he  repeated,  as  the  judge 
hesitated. 

"  You  were  given  a  chance  to  testify  in  your  own 
behalf,  and  you  refused  to  avail  yourself  of  that  privi- 
lege," the  judge  slowly  said.  "  For  what  purpose  do 
you  now  address  the  court  ?  " 

"  I  make  no  plea  for  myself,"  the  prisoner  declared, 
a  shade  of  sarcasm  in  his  voice  and  face.  "  I  enter- 
tain no  fears  for  my  fate,  but  if  you  sentence  these  three 
men,  and  more  especially  the  one  who  has  been  tried 


THE   VERDICT!  325 

under  the  name  of  Stanley  Deane,  you  will  do  them  a 
grievous  injustice,  and  bring  ridicule  on  yourself  as  a 
judge." 

"  The  jury  has  brought  in  its  verdict,  and  I  have  no 
alternative,"  the  judge  said,  a  touch  of  impatience  in  his 
voice,  but  there  was  something  in  the  manner  of  the 
prisoner  that  held  his  gavel  suspended. 

"  Set  aside  that  asinine  verdict !  "  thundered  the  con- 
victed Heinemann.  "  Set  it  aside ! — Amos  Bucking- 
ham was  not  murdered!  Amos  Buckingham  is  alive!  " 

His  powerful  voice  rang  through  the  building,  and  in 
it  was  a  note  of  triumphant  certainty  which  brought  the 
spectators  to  their  feet  and  held  them  spellbound. 

Even  the  judge  arose  and  took  a  step  forward,  but  his 
voice  held  its  wonted  calm  when  he  said : 

"  The  defence  admitted  the  corpus  delicti.  What 
reason  have  you  to  deny  that  the  body  found  in  the 
laboratory  was  not  that  of  Amos  Buckingham  ?  " 

"  The  most  convincing  of  all  reasons !  I  am  Amos 
Buckingham!  " 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE  SECRET  OF  THE  LABOEATOKY 

"  BY  all  that's  holy !  "  cried  Saxon,  in  the  confusion 
which  followed  the  startling  denouement.  "  They  have 
tried  and  convicted  a  man  for  his  own  murder !  " 

Seldom  has  such  a  scene  been  witnessed  in  a  court  of 
justice  as  that  which  ensued  when  the  dead  Buckingham 
stood  reincarnated  and  proclaimed  the  fact  in  a  voice  of 
thunder.  The  dreary  tomes  of  law  contained  no  pre- 
cedent for  such  a  climax,  and  all  discipline  was  swept 
aside  before  the  conflicting  gusts  of  emotion. 

Dazed  and  speechless,  the  presiding  judge  stood  and 
watched  a  demonstration  in  which  human  instincts  and 
passions  trampled  under  foot  the  petty  conventions  of 
court  procedure.  The  French  are  not  more  fickle  and 
emotional  than  the  sensation-craving  dwellers  of  the 
American  metropolis,  and  those  who  an  instant  before 
waited  eagerly  to  hear  the  words  which  should  condemn 
Deane  to  the  death  chair,  now  cheered  and  dashed  the 
officers  aside  in  a  mad  attempt  to  testify  to  their  joy 
over  his  triumphant  vindication. 

Captain  Morse  was  the  first  to  reach  him.  No  words 
came  from  his  lips,  but  the  look  on  his  face  spoke  all 


THE   SECRET  OF    THE   LABORATORY       327 

that  is  in  a  parent's  heart.  Then  Stanley  felt  Jake 
Stark's  huge  arms  about  him,  and  looked  into  his 
bearded,  homely  and  smiling  face. 

"  It  was  a  mighty  hard  gale,  Mascot ;  one  of  the  worst 
I  ever  seen !  "  he  declared,  crushing  Deane's  fingers ; 
"  but  we  rode  her  out,  Mascot ;  we  rode  her  out  an'  never 
lost  an  inch  of  canvas!  God  bless  you,  Mascot,  God 
bless  you !  " 

"  Thank  you,  captain !  "  was  all  that  Deane  could 
say,  and  then  he  saw  one  whose  near  presence  blotted  all 
else  from  his  senses. 

Alice  was  trying  to  get  through  the  crazed  and  cheer- 
ing mob  which  had  invaded  the  space  reserved  for  the 
lawyers  and  others  who  had  rights  there.  Dolly,  Tom 
and  others  were  with  her,  and  when  Deane  started 
toward  them  the  crowd  generously  made  way,  but  re- 
doubled its  clamor. 

A  moment  later  he  held  her  hands  and  looked  into  her 
moist  eyes  and  smiling  face. 

"  I  tried  to  tell  you,  Stanley!  "  she  exclaimed.  "  I 
knew  it  several  days  ago,  but  papa  made  me  promise 
not  to  say  a  word.  Papa  had  no  idea  that  they  would 
convict  you,  and  when  that  awful  jury  said  you  were 
guilty,  it  was  all  that  I  could  do  to  keep  from  crying  out 
and  telling  you  that  it  was  a  mistake.  I  tried  to  go  to 
you,  but  Mr.  Farnsworth  wouldn't  let  me.  How  you 
must  have  suffered  in  those  moments ! ' 

"  When  I  saw  the  look  in  your  eyes,  sweetheart,  I  was 
very  happy !  "  he  said  softly,  bending  down  until  her 


328  THE   BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

hair  brushed  her  cheek.  "  I'm  the  most  fortunate  man 
in  the  world ;  I  was  tried  for  my  life  and  won  yours !  " 

The  tactless  Harkness  broke  in  on  this  little  scene, 
and  shouted  his  congratulations.  The  officers  had  awak- 
ened from  their  stupor,  and  the  hammering  of  the 
judge's  gavel  sounded  above  the  confusion. 

"  Look  at  your  anarchist  father,  Alice !  "  Tom  said, 
and  she  and  Deane  turned  and  looked  at  Mr.  Bucking- 
ham, who  had  remained  standing  and  unmoved  during 
this  wild  demonstration.  "  I  declare,  he  is  grinning  at 
you  and  Stanley !  " 

What  he  said  was  true.  The  dark  features  of  the  mil- 
lionaire had  lost  their  sternness  in  a  smile  which  had 
stolen  into  his  face  as  he  watched  his  daughter  and 
Deane. 

"  Did  he  give  his  consent,  little  one  ?  "  asked  the  priv- 
ileged Tom  of  Alice,  as  he  escorted  the  cousins  to  their 
seats. 

"  Ask  Dolly !  "  she  retorted,  the  color  leaping  to  her 
neck  and  cheeks.  "  Ask  Dolly !  she  promised  faithfully 
not  to  tell." 

"  Then  I  shall  know  in  a  few  minutes,"  laughed  Tom. 
"  Telling  me  doesn't  count  j  I'm  almost  one  of  the 
family." 

When  order  had  been  restored  the  judge  arose  and 
said: 

"  In  view  of  the  remarkable  character  of  the  state- 
ment made  by  the  prisoner  who  has  been  tried  and  con- 
victed under  the  name  of  Rudolph  Heinemann — a  state- 


THE   SECRET  OF    THE   LABORATORY       329 

ment  thus  far  unsubstantiated  by  any  word  other  than 
his  own — the  court  will  overlook  the  demonstration 
made  by  the  audience,  and  condone  the  inefficiency  of 
the  officers  of  the  court,  but  if  any  further  manifesta- 
tion is  made  during  the  inquiry  which  will  now  be  made, 
the  court  will  order  the  room  cleared  and  conduct  the 
proceedings  behind  closed  doors." 

He  then  turned  to  the  prisoners. 

"  If  the  statement  made  be  true,"  he  said,  "  and  if 
the  prisoner  who  has  been  known  to  this  court  as 
Rudolph  Heinemann  is  in  reality  Amos  Buckingham, 
the  case  of  the  prosecution  falls.  Arise,  sir !  "  indicat- 
ing "  Rudolph  Heinemann." 

He  stood  erect,  bowed  respectfully  to  the  judge,  and 
looked  calmly  over  the  silent  throng. 

"  Are  there  witnesses  present  who  can  prove  beyond 
doubt  that  you  are  Amos  Buckingham  ? "  the  judge 
asked.  "  I  shall  require  at  least  two  witnesses  who  are 
personally  known  to  me." 

"  Such  witnesses  are  in  the  room,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Name  them,  please." 

"  David  Farnsworth  and  his  wife,"  he  began.  "  The 
latter  is  my  sister,  and  both  inform  me  that  they  have 
met  you  socially  and  are  known  to  you.  I  also  refer  you 
to  my  daughter,  Alice,  whom  they  will  identify.  Also 
to  Thomas  Harkness;  Mr.  Peters,  my  private  secretary; 
Mr.  Jacoby,  well  and  favorably  known  as  a  detective; 
Mr.  Hunter,  the  general  superintendent  of  my  mills; 
and  if  these  will  not  suffice,  I  will  give  you  the  names  of 


330  THE   BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

others,  including  the  mayor  of  the  city,  who  can  be 
called  here  without  a  long  delay." 

The  judge  turned  to  Mrs.  Farnsworth  with  a  courtly 
bow. 

"  Pardon  this  legal  formality,  my  dear  madame,"  he 
said.  "  Is  the  gentleman  to  whom  you  have  just  listened 
your  brother  ?  " 

"  He  is,  your  honor !  "  timidly  replied  Mrs.  Farns- 
worth. Her  husband,  the  famous  banker,  nodded  his 
head  in  needless  confirmation. 

"  I  require  no  further  proof,"  promptly  ruled  the 
judge.  "  In  view  of  this  development,  it  is  my  duty  to 
set  aside  the  verdict  of  guilty  found  by  the  jury  against 
Stanley  Deane,  Jacob  Stark  and  William  Parker,  and 
I  do  this  without  reflecting  in  the  least  on  the  zeal  and 
intelligence  of  the  members  of  the  jury,  who  were  guided 
solely  by  the  evidence  submitted  to  them.  The  prisoners 
named  are  discharged." 

The  excited  murmur  which  arose  was  checked  by  the 
officers  before  it  swelled  into  a  second  demonstration, 
and  after  a  minute  of  silence  the  judge  again  turned  to 
Buckingham. 

-"I  congratulate  you,  Mr.  Buckingham,"  he  began, 
"  that  there  did  not  befall  you  the  fate  which  the  court 
deplored,  and  which  it  strove  to  punish.  At  the  same 
time  it  is  my  duty  to  say  to  you  that,  from  what  knowl- 
edge I  now  possess,  it  appears  that  you  have  been  guilty 
of  evasions  which  have  subjected  innocent  men  to  ig- 
nomy  and  suffering,  mental  and  physical ;  that  you  have 


THE   SECRET  OF   THE   LABORATORT       331 

entailed  on  the  State  a  litigation  which  has  been  pro- 
tracted and  expensive,  and  that  you  have  caused  this  and 
other  courts  to  lose  in  prestige  and  dignity  by  making 
of  a  most  solemn  proceeding  a  mockery  and  a  travesty. 
I  do  not  say  that  such  has  been  your  intent,  but  I  do  say 
that  such  has  been  the  result.  It  is  due  to  the  court ;  to 
these  prisoners  who  have  unjustly  been  held  under  sus- 
picion and  suspense ;  to  the  prosecution  which  has  done 
its  duty  under  law ;  to  the  public  which  looks  to  the 
courts  for  the  proper  administration  of  justice;  and 
finally  to  yourself,  that  you  reveal  frankly  and  fully  the 
circumstances  and  the  reasons  which  have  been  respon- 
sible for  this  astounding  development.  The  court  awaits 
your  reply,  Mr.  Buckingham." 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  offer  such  explanation  and  such  a 
defence  as  is  at  my  command,"  replied  Buckingham, 
"  but  it  must  be  an  informal  one,  since  many  of  the  facts 
which  I  shall  relate,  while  easy  of  complete  substantia- 
tion, are  not  of  my  personal  knowledge.  May  I  be  per- 
mitted to  tell  the  story  of  what  has  occurred  in  my  own 
way,  without  unnecessary  reference  to  the  sources  of  my 
information,  and  so  far  as  is  possible  without  inter- 
ruption ?  " 

"  You  may." 

In  an  easy,  conversational  tone,  as  if  addressing  a  few 
friends,  Buckingham  told  this  remarkable  story  of  how 
he  was  suspected,  arrested,  imprisoned,  indicted,  tried 
and  convicted  for  his  own  murder : 

"  When  I  was  a  young  man  my  father  was  anxious 


332 


THE   BOTTOM    OF    THE    WELL 


that  I  should  have  such  an  education  as  would  fit  me  to 
fill  his  place  as  the  owner  of  the  Buckingham  mills,  but 
I  had  little  taste  for  mechanics.  I  went  abroad,  and 
there  I  became  interested  in  medical  science,  and  de- 
termined to  study  such  courses  as  would  enable  me  to 
take  a  degree.  From  the  study  of  physics  I  naturally 
drifted  into  an  investigation  of  the  mysteries  of  an- 
atomy, and  as  I  delved  more  deeply  into  that  subject 
I  became  fascinated  with  it. 

"  After  my  marriage  in  Paris  and  the  birth  of  my 
daughter,  I  devoted  most  of  my  time  to  anatomical  re.- 
searches,  and  I  attained  such  proficiency  as  to  admit  me 
to  the  companionship  of  the  most  famous  anatomists  of 
Paris,  Berlin,  Vienna,  London  and  other  centres  of  ad- 
vanced knowledge. 

"  My  private  means  were  such — owing  to  the  gener- 
osity of  a  father  who  never  refused  any  request  ever 
made  to  him — that  I  was  in  a  position  to  gratify  every 
whim.  While  competent  to  perform  the  most  delicate 
and  dangerous  operations,  I  refused  to  make  myself 
known  to  the  public  as  a  surgeon,  and  never  took  a  fee 
in  my  life.  Surgery  and  dissection  were  my  passions, 
and  all  that  I  asked  was  the  acclaim  of  my  few  dis- 
tinguished associates,  and  the  satiating  of  my  craving 
for  new  discoveries  in  the  construction  and  functions  of 
the  human  body. 

"  My  pride  suffers  when  I  reflect  that  my  fame  is  so 
small  that  no  American  surgeons  thought  to  carry  it  to 
the  ears  of  Judge  Sawyer  and  Themistocles  Saxon,  the 
distinguished  lawyers  who  have  borne  the  burden  of  the 


THE   SECRET  OF   THE   LABORATORY       333 

defence  in  this  case.  I  cannot  refrain  from  saying  that 
I  have  done  enough  to  give  me  an  humble  place  amongst 
those  who  have  tried  to  probe  the  secrets  of  the  frame 
which  encloses  our  souls.  Had  they  learned  of  this ;  had 
they  known  of  my  penchant  for  dissection,  they  would 
not  have  been  so  ready  to  admit  that  the  charred  body 
found  in  the  laboratory  was  mine ! 

"  On  the  death  of  my  father  I  was  compelled  to  aban- 
don the  associations  which  most  keenly  interested  me  in 
life,  and  to  come  to  this  city.  It  was  my  purpose  to  sell 
the  property  which  had  been  bequeathed  to  me,  but  I 
found  that  the  Buckingham  mills  were  menaced  by  a 
monopolistic  combine  of  manufacturers  on  the  one  hand, 
and  a  monopolistic  combine  of  employes  on  the  other. 
I  am  an  individualist ;  an  intense  egoist,  possibly — and 
when  I  found  that  my  money  interests  were  threatened 
by  both  capital  and  labor,  I  determined  to  wage  a  war 
to  the  finish  against  them. 

"  But  I  could  not  entirely  abandon  my  anatomical 
researches.  It  was  my  ambition  to  discover  some  posi- 
tive clue  which  would  lead  myself  or  others  to  ascertain 
certain  unknown  functions  of  the  spleen.  In  Paris  and 
in  Berlin  I  had  the  advantage  of  private  dissecting 
rooms  connected  with  my  residences,  and  my  first  step 
on  taking  possession  of  the  mansion  erected  by  my 
father  was  to  build  a  wall  about  the  place,  and  to  erect 
the  small  structure  which  has  been  known  in  this  case 
as  the  '  laboratory.'  I  will  continue  so  to  term  it. 

"  I  arranged  with  a  man,  whose  name  I  shall  not  dis- 
close, to  furnish  me  with  subjects  for  dissection,  and 


334  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

when  I  had  finished  my  examination  of  them  I  con- 
sumed the  remains  in  a  specially  constructed  furnace 
which  was  sent  to  me  from  my  study  room  in  Berlin. 
As  a  rule  these  subjects  were  delivered  to  me  late  at 
night,,  and  the  nature  of  my  work  was  such  as  to  make 
secrecy  imperative. 

"  When  the  strike  occurred  I  was  making  satisfactory 
progress,  and  it  annoyed  me  that  my  attention  should  be 
diverted  to  outside  matters.  I  deeply  resented  the  inter- 
ference of  Mr.  Deane.  From  Sir  Whitaker  Deane, 
brother  to  his  foster-father,  I  had  learned  that  he  was  an 
adopted  son.  I  had  known  Sir  Whitaker  for  years,  and 
he  confided  to  me  that  secret  in  a  moment  of  convivi- 
ality. I  thought  nothing  of  it  at  the  time,  but  when  I 
learned  that  he  was  in  this  country,  and  that  he  was 
espousing  the  cause  of  my  employes,  I  sent  for  him, 
and  we  held  the  heated  interview,  of  which  testimony 
has  been  given. 

"  I  so  far  misjudged  this  young  man  as  to  suspect 
him  of  complicity  in  framing  the  warning  which  was 
sent  to  me,  asserting  that  I  had  been  condemned  to 
death.  I  thought  much  of  this  matter,  and  then  decided 
on  a  step  which  doubtless  saved  my  life,  but  which  also 
resulted  in  the  remarkable  complication  you  have  wit- 
nessed. 

"  Ten  years  ago,  while  in  Switzerland,  I  met  a  cult- 
ured and  wealthy  man  who,  through  a  combination  of 
happenings  and  circumstances — which  I  shall  not  dis- 
close— became  one  of  the  international  leaders  of  force 
anarchy.  The  world  knew  him  as  a  financier,  an  aris- 


THE   SECRET  OF   THE   LABORATORY       335 

tocrat  of  proud  lineage — the  monarchies  of  Europe 
knew  him  as  the  power  behind  the  plottings  of  which 
they  ever  stood  in  fear,  but  such  was  his  shrewdness  and 
his  influence  that  they  did  not  and  dare  not  arrest  him. 

"  I  admired  the  personality  of  this  man,  and  since 
most  of  his  efforts  were  directed  against  the  Russian 
autocracy,  I  found  myself  in  sympathy  with  much  of 
his  propaganda.  The  secret  brotherhood  to  which  he 
belongs  has  never  lifted  a  finger  against  the  government 
of  any  republic,  nor  against  the  liberal  monarchy  of 
Great  Britain,  and  their  followers  in  such  countries 
hold,  as  a  rule,  no  enmity  against  the  home  administra- 
tions. 

"  This  titled  leader  of  international  anarchy  became 
financially  embarrassed  on  one  occasion,  and  it  was  my 
privilege  to  render  him  assistance  at  a  critical  time. 
That  put  him  under  obligations  to  me,  but  I  did  not 
think  that  an  emergency  would  arise  when  he  could 
repay  me. 

"  A  few  days  after  receiving  the  notice  condemning 
me  to  death,  I  learned  that  this  man  was  in  New  York 
City.  I  sent  for  him  and  he  came  to  my  residence  at 
once.  He  was  indignant  when  I  told  him  what  had  hap- 
pened. I  informed  him  that  it  would  amuse  me  to 
mingle  with  these  renegade  anarchists  who  might  be 
plotting  my  life,  and  stated  to  him  that  I  was  especially 
anxious  to  watch  Stanley  Deane.  He  was  certain  that 
Mr.  Deane  was  not  an  anarchist,  but  I  still  had  my  sus- 
picions. 

"  He  laughingly  agreed  to  post  me  on  anarchy  so  that 


336  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

it  would  be  possible  for  me  to  win  the  confidence  of 
Fischer,  Dare  and  others.  For  three  days  I  took  lessons 
from  him.  Prior  to  this  time  he  had  induced  me  to 
read  the  standard  anarchistic  literature,  and  I  was  no 
novice  in  its  arguments  and  fantastic  sophistries.  It 
was  decided  that  I  should  assume  the  character  of 
1  Johann  Schliermacker,  editor  of  the  Berlin  Frei- 
heit,'  and  he  assured  me  that  with  my  beard  removed  I 
would  look  not  unlike  that  literary  radical. 

"  My  anarchistic  friend  also  fitted  me  out  with  an 
assortment  of  pamphlets,  secret  work  and  other  docu- 
ments, and  finally  with  models  of  new  designs  of  bombs 
and  infernal  machines,  which  had  recently  been  invented 
by  some  associate  of  his  unknown  to  me.  No  anarchist 
ever  started  out  with  better  credentials.  It  only  re- 
mained for  me  to  look  the  part,  and  the  newspaper  artists 
and  the  lawyers  for  the  prosecution  have  paid  me  the 
high  compliment  of  asserting  that  I  am  the  most  fero- 
cious and  forbidding  type  of  anarchist  they  ever 
sketched  or  studied. 

"  It  was  the  simplest  possible  matter  to  perfect  my 
disguise.  There  are  a  dozen  men  in  this  room  whose  chil- 
dren would  not  know  them  were  they  to  remove  their 
beards  and  put  on  a  slouchy  suit  of  clothes.  For  twenty 
years  I  have  worn  a  heavy  beard  which  entirely  masks 
my  features.  I  trust  that  I  am  handsomer  with  a  beard ; 
certain  it  is  that  I  have  shaved  for  the  last  time. 

"  Mr.  Peters  has  been  my  private  secretary  for  ten 
years,  has  been  constantly  in  my  company,  and  knows 
me  better  than  does  my  daughter,  yet  on  the  day  after 


THE   SECRET  OF   THE   LABORATORY       337 

I  had  assumed  my  disguise  I  met  him  on  the  street  in 
broad  daylight  and  talked  with  him  several  minutes. 
He  did  not  know  me,  and  from  that  moment  I  had  no 
fears  of  detection. 

"  I  have  lived  in  this  city  less  than  six  months,  and 
during  that  time  I  have  avoided  making  acquaintances. 
~Not  five  men  in  the  city  had  access  to  my  house.  I  kept 
away  from  the  mills,  Peters  looked  after  my  finances, 
Superintendent  Hunter  after  my  manufacturing  inter- 
ests, and  I  spent  most  of  my  time  at  my  anatomical 
studies.  Mr.  Deane  never  saw  me  but  once.  That  was 
at  night  in  my  library,  and  I  sat  in  the  shadow  with  my 
eyes  shaded.  None  of  these  prisoners  knew  me,  and  I 
doubt  if  either  August  Fischer  or  Wallace  Dare  had 
seen  me." 

The  reader  will  recall  that  Fischer  once  saw  Mr. 
Buckingham  in  his  automobile,  but  his  eyes  were 
goggled,  and  it  is  certain  that  he  did  not  in  the  least 
resemble  the  Berlin  editor  met  later  in  The  Well. 

"  I  confided  my  plan  only  to  Mr.  Jacoby,"  continued 
Amos  Buckingham,  the  vast  crowd  following  him  with 
breathless  attention.  "  Before  removing  my  beard  I  in- 
formed my  daughter  and  Mr.  Peters  that  I  should  be 
away  for  a  few  days,  and  that  night  I  introduced  myself 
to  The  Well.  My  experiences  there  have  been  fully 
and  truthfully  told  by  the  men  who  have  been  my  fellow 
prisoners,  and  I  will  only  say  that  I  became  speedily 
convinced  that  Stanley  Deane  was  not  an  anarchist,  but 
that  he  was  an  earnest,  unselfish  and  intelligent  advocate 
of  principles  which  he  has  a  right  to  hold.  I  wish  pub- 
22 


338  THE   BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

licly  to  apologize  to  Mr.  Deane  at  this  time,  and  to  ex- 
press to  him  my  regret  that  I  entertained  an  unworthy 
suspicion  against  him.  I  hope  he  will  accept  these 
amends." 

Deane  arose,  his  handsome  face  aglow,  and  offered  a 
hand  which  Buckingham  grasped,  and  as  the  two  men 
stood  there  the  audience  cheered  and  waved  kerchiefs. 
The  judge  forgot  to  carry  out  his  threat,  and  after  quiet 
was  restored,  Mr.  Buckingham  continued : 

"  I  enjoyed  myself  in  the  society  of  these  men,  and 
for  the  first  time  heard  the  side  of  the  workers  frankly 
discussed.  I  found  most  of  them  fair  and  conservative 
in  their  claims  and  ambitions.  The  most  radical  mem- 
ber of  The  Well  was  Mr.  Themistocles  Saxon,  and  I 
cannot  understand  how  he  managed  to  escape  arrest.  I 
had  no  suspicions  against  Fischer  and  Dare,  and  I  pro- 
posed to  terminate  my  adventure  after  listening  to  Mr. 
Deane's  address  to  my  striking  employes. 

"  I  went  to  the  hall,  saw  Miss  Fischer  when  she 
rushed  in  and  whispered  to  Mr.  Deane  as  he  was  about 
to  begin  his  address,  was  suspicious  that  something  was 
wrong,  and  decided  to  follow  them.  I  reached  the  side- 
walk in  time  to  see  Deane  and  Miss  Fischer  drive 
rapidly  away  in  his  carriage. 

"  Jumping  into  a  cab,  I  ordered  the  man  to  follow 
them.  He  did  so  until  we  reached  the  cross  street  which 
leads  to  my  residence,  and  there  we  were  blocked  for 
thirty  seconds,  perhaps,  but  something  told  me  that  they 
were  headed  for  my  place. 

"  When  we  reached  the  rear  gate,  I  saw  Miss  Fischer 


THE   SECRET  OF    THE   LABORATORY 


339 


turn  into  the  alley,  and  by  the  time  I  was  out  of  the  cab 
I  saw  two  men  take  the  same  course.  It  has  since  been 
shown  that  these  were  Jacob  Stark  and  l  Long  Bill ' 
Parker.  Miss  Fischer  had  notified  them  before  she  did 
Deane,  but  being  unfamiliar  with  the  way  they  missed 
it,  and  it  thus  happened  that  the  four  of  us  arrived  at 
the  front  of  the  vacant  house  at  about  the  same  time. 
There  was  no  coincidence  about  it — it  was  the  perfectly 
natural  result  of  the  frantic  efforts  of  Annieta  Fischer 
to  prevent  her  father  from  committing  an  awful  crime. 

"  At  that  moment  Deane  was  at  my  gates,  giving  his 
warning  to  Jacoby,  Peters  and  my  hall  servant.  He  did 
the  proper  and  logical  thing,  yet  had  I  been  killed  it 
would  have  convicted  him.  I  shall  have  something  to 
say  about  circumstantial  evidence  later  on. 

"  I  followed  Stark  and  Parker  into  that  black  base- 
ment, having  not  the  slightest  idea  of  what  was  their 
mission.  I  had  no  suspicion  of  the  nature  of  the  con- 
spiracy, and  I  was  so  stupid  that  I  did  not  understand 
even  when  the  officers  summoned  by  Deane  flashed  a 
light  at  the  mouth  of  the  tunnel.  I  saw  Annieta  Fischer 
jump  into  the  excavation  and  heard  her  call  for  her 
father ;  I  saw  a  bearded  man — Jake  Stark,  it  seems— 
jump  in  after;  I  crowded  forward  to  see  what  it  all 
meant — and  then  I  felt  a  hot  blast  on  my  face,  a  roar- 
ing sound  in  my  ears,  felt  myself  hurled  through  the  air 
— and  then  I  knew  no  more." 

Mr.  Buckingham  called  for  a  glass  of  water,  and  then 
continued  his  strange  but  natural  narrative. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

A  FLASH  OF  LIGHT 

NEVEE  did  actor  carry  an  audience  with  him  toward 
a  great  climax  with  more  skill  than  did  Buckingham. 
The  shrewd  ones  knew  that  the  body  found  in  the  labo- 
ratory was  that  of  a  subject  for  dissection,  but  what  of 
the  lights  seen  by  Jacoby  and  Peters  ?  What  became  of 
the  false  Schliermacker  ?  The  speaker  deftly  untangled 
the  knotted  threads  of  these  mysteries. 

"  My  first  impression  when  I  came  to  a  semi-con- 
sciousness," he  continued,  "  was  that  of  a  terrific  buzz- 
ing in  my  ears,  and  then  I  was  aware  that  I  was  in  a 
cramped  enclosure  and  moving  rapidly  over  an  uneven 
surface.  I  was  in  a  police  ambulance. 

"  It  must  have  been  thirty  minutes  after  the  explo- 
sion when  I  was  discovered.  Miss  Fischer,  Parker  and 
Stark  had  been  removed  before  I  was  found  in  a  dark 
corner  of  the  basement.  It  was  at  first  thought  that  I 
was  dead,  but  the  surgeon  found  otherwise,  and  after  a 
time  I  was  carried  to  the  ambulance  and  started  for  the 
hospital. 

"  When  I  recovered,  I  raised  myself  on  my  elbow  and 
looked  into  the  face  of  a  young  man  in  uniform.  He 
pushed  me  back  on  the  pillow. 


.A  FLASH  OF  LIGHT  34I 

'  Lie  down  and  keep  quiet/  he  ordered,  and  then 
turned  to  an  older  man  who  sat  on  a  camp  chair  at  the 
foot  of  the  stretcher.  <  I  told  you,  doctor,  that  there  was 
nothing  the  matter  with  him  but  shock.  There's  not  a 
bone  broken,  and  his  pulse  is  as  regular  as  mine.  Let's 
not  take  him  to  the  hospital.  This  is  a  case  for  Captain 
Hogan.' 

"'You'll  not  take  me  to  a  hospital!'  I  declared. 
'  Take  me  to  my  residence  at  once !  My  name  is  Amos 

Buckingham,  and  I  live  at ' 

'  Lie  down  and  keep  your  mouth  shut ! '  ordered  the 
larger  and  elder  of  the  two.  '  He's  dazed  yet,  but  it's 
safe  to  take  him  to  the  station,'  he  said  to  the  other,  and 
I  decided  to  let  them  have  their  own  way. 

e{  My  strength  returned  rapidly,  and  I  felt  all  right 
when  I  was  taken  from  the  ambulance  and  permitted 
to  walk  into  the  police  station.  I  was  more  angry  than 
hurt,  but  I  had  no  idea  of  my  desperate  appearance.  I 
have  since  learned  that  my  clothes  were  torn,  smeared 
with  dirt  and  encrusted  with  mud.  I  had  no  hat,  and 
my  close-cropped  hair  had  been  burned  away  over  my 
left  temple.  The  exposed  scalp  was  raw  where  the  fly- 
ing gravel  had  pitted  it.  There  were  splotches  of  coag- 
ulated blood  on  my  cheeks,  my  nose  was  scratched  and 
my  upper  lip  swollen. 

"  In  this  condition  I  was  taken  into  Captain  Hogan's 
private  office.  He  was  furious  that  such  a  crime  had 
been  committed  in  his  district.  More  than  an  hour  had 
passed  since  the  explosion,  and  news  had  come  to  him  of 


342  THE   BOTTOM   OF    THE    WELL 

the  finding  of  the  charred  body  supposed  to  be  mine. 
On  his  desk  were  photographs  of  me,  but  I  did  not  see 
them.  I  had  no  conception  of  what  had  happened,  and 
was  only  anxious  to  be  released  at  once,  and  I  presume 
I  was  more  or  less  haughty  and  impatient. 

"  '  Here's  another  of  them  blankyty-blank  anarchists, 
Captain ! '  announced  the  officer  who  held  me  by  the  arm. 
'  We  found  him  half  buried  in  a  corner  of  that  base- 
ment. He  got  a  dose  of  his  own  medicine ! ' 

"  '  Stand  him  up  against  the  wall  and  search  him ! ' 
ordered  Captain  Hogan,  motioning  to  other  officers  who 
were  in  the  room. 

"  '  Hold  on,  Captain ! '  I  exclaimed,  pushing  aside  the 
man  who  gripped  me  by  the  arm.  l  This  is  all  a  mis- 
take. I  am  Amos  Buckingham,  and  I ' 

"  '  You're  a  fine-looking  Amos  Buckingham ! '  an- 
grily roared  Captain  Hogan.  '  You  helped  kill  Amos 
Buckingham,  you  crazy,  blankyty-blank  anarchist! 
Search  him,  men ;  have  I  got  to  tell  you  twice  ?  Are  you 
afraid  of  him  ?  Jamb  him  against  that  wall  and  se0  if 
he  has  any  bombs  left ! ' 

"  Four  of  them  made  a  rush  for  me.  I  suppose  I 
was  insane  with  anger.  My  temper  is  none  of  the  best, 
and  my  experience  that  night  was  enough  to  have  upset 
a  much  meeker  man.  I  confess  to  no  great  love  for  our 
police  system  and  its  personnel,  and  when  a  man  who 
hadn't  been  on  these  shores  long  enough  to  vote  grabbed 
me  by  the  throat,  I  reached  out  and  landed  on  him  with 


A  FLASH  OF  LIGHT  343 

all  my  strength,  and  without  boasting,  I  will  say  that  I 
am  not  a  weakling  in  a  physical  encounter. 

"  Captain  Hogan  leaped  at  me,  and  I  floored  him. 
Witnesses  declare  that  for  fully  two  minutes  I  fought 
single-handed  against  six  men.  I  was  gradually  weak- 
ened by  terrific  blows  on  the  head  and  back  with  night 
sticks  and  the  butt  ends  of  revolvers,  but  it  was  not  until 
reinforcements  arrived  that  I  went  down  and  out.  I  do 
not  know  who  struck  the  blow,  where  it  landed,  and  I 
do  not  care.  I  am  told  that  they  continued  to  beat  me 
after  I  had  fallen.  I  hardly  believe  this. 

"  I  am  informed  that  it  is  customary  to  put  suspected 
criminals  through  a  form  of  physical  torture  and  brutal- 
ity known  as  '  the  third  degree/  a  gentle  survival  of  bar- 
barism permitted  in  no  other  civilized  country  at  the 
present  time.  Since  I  was  condemned  in  advance  as 
guilty  of  an  atrocious  crime,  and  as  my  appearance  was 
against  me,  I  presume  that  I  should  be  glad  that  I 
escaped  with  my  life  twice  in  one  night — first  from 
dynamite  anarchists,  and  second  from  police  anarchists. 

"  It  was  ten  days  later  when  I  recovered  conscious- 
ness, and  the  next  day  Detective  Jacoby  found  me  in  the 
hospital  to  which  I  had  been  taken. 

"  It  is  now  necessary  to  retrace  our  steps,  and  to  re- 
late what  really  happened  in  and  around  the  laboratory. 

"  The  day  before  I  assumed  the  disguise  which  caused 
all  this  trouble,  the  man  who  supplied  me  with  subjects 
for  dissection  called  and  informed  me  that  in  all  proba- 
bility he  would  be  able  to  obtain  an  especially  promising 


344  TBS  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

one  within  the  following  few  days.  This  man  conferred 
only  with  me.  Secretary  Peters  knew  nothing  of  my 
researches,  and  no  one  had  ever  been  admitted  to  the 
laboratory. 

"  It  was  my  fancy  to  work  on  cadavers  as  near  as 
possible  of  my  height  and  build — possibly  another  evi- 
dence of  an  over-developed  ego,  of  which  I  have  been 
accused — and  my  agent  informed  me  that  he  had  one 
in  mind  which  met  every  requirement.  I  did  not  wish 
to  postpone  my  detective  excursion,  neither  did  I  wish 
to  lose  this  subject  for  dissection,  so  after  warning  him 
to  come  at  night,  I  gave  him  the  keys  to  the  rear  gate 
and  the  laboratory,  also  a  note  which  he  could  use  in  case 
one  of  my  servants  questioned  him. 

"  There  is  every  evidence  that  Fischer  and  Dare 
awaited  only  the  sign  of  a  light  from  the  laboratory 
windows  to  fire  the  mine.  What  happened  is  simple 
enough.  My  agent  arrived  at  the  rear  gate  with  an  as- 
sistant and  the  body.  He  unlocked  the  gate,  the  two  of 
them  carried  in  the  rough  box  containing  the  body,  and 
they  entered  the  laboratory  and  turned  on  the  lights  a 
few  minutes  before  the  arrival  of  Miss  Fischer,  Stark, 
Parker,  Deane  and  myself. 

"  These  two  men  were  not  in  the  laboratory  more  than 
three  or  four  minutes,  but  the  lights  told  the  intended 
assassins,  also  Jacoby  and  Peters,  that  I  had  returned. 
The  mine  was  fired,  and  when  the  naphtha,  alcohol  and 
other  inflammable  fluids  had  done  their  work,  there 


A  FLASH  OF  LIGHT  345 

remained  the  charred  remains  of  what  was  unhesitat- 
ingly assumed  to  be  my  corpse. 

"  One  man  refused  to  accept  this  theory.  Mr.  Jacoby 
began  a  thorough  and  critical  examination  of  such  facts 
as  were  in  his  possession.  He  was  the  only  one  who 
knew  that  I  had  assumed  a  disguise.  He  found  that  I 
had  spent  several  days  in  The  Well.  He  traced  me  to 
the  mass  meeting,  and  found  the  cabman  who  had  driven 
1  Schliermacker  '  to  my  residence.  When  he  ascertained 
that  I  had  left  the  hall  after  Deane  and  Miss  Fischer, 
he  at  once  detected  the  flaw. 

"  Jacoby  had  stood  in  Peters'  room,  and  had  seen  the 
lights  flash  from  the  laboratory  windows  at  a  time  when 
I  was  either  in  the  hall  where  the  mass  meeting  was 
held  or  else  on  the  way  to  my  residence!  Therefore 
some  one  else  must  have  turned  on  the  lights.  True, 
there  was  time  for  me  to  enter  the  laboratory  before  the 
explosion,  but  Jacoby  proceeded  on  another  theory. 

"  By  patient  and  intelligent  work  he  learned  that  an 
unknown  man  had  been  found  injured  and  senseless  in 
the  basement  of  the  vacant  building.  He  traced  me 
from  there  to  the  police  station,  but  Captain  Hogan  and 
others  were  dumb.  I  presume  they  were  afraid  I  would 
die  from  my  beating.  Jacoby  convinced  himself  that  I 
was  not  in  jail,  and  then  he  turned  his  attention  to  the 
hospitals.  As  I  have  told  you,  he  found  me  the  day  after 
I  recovered  consciousness. 

"When  it  was  learned  that  I  would  live,  I  was 
promptly  indicted  under  the  name  of  Kudolph  Heine- 


346  THE   BOTTOM    OF    THE    WELL 

mann.  In  the  meantime  I  had  decided  on  a  course  for 
which  I  may  be  censured  by  the  court  and  by  public 
opinion,  but  for  which  I  make  no  apologies. 

"  I  knew  that  I  could  trust  Mr.  Jacoby.  I  instructed 
him  to  go  at  once  to  my  daughter,  Mr.  David  Farns- 
worth  and  his  wife  and  daughter,  and  to  tell  them  that  I 
was  alive  and  in  no  danger,  and  to  enjoin  them  to  abso- 
lute secrecy.  He  did  so,  and  not  until  I  was  removed 
from  the  hospital  to  a  cell  in  the  Tombs  did  I  see  my 
brave  daughter  and  my  sister. 

"  Your  honor,  I  had  three  motives  in  wishing  to  per- 
mit this  case  to  take  its  natural — or  rather,  its  unnat- 
ural course.  I  wished  to  revenge  myself  on  the  police 
who  mistreated  and  nearly  killed  me.  I  wished  to  ad- 
vertise in  the  widest  possible  manner  the  ignorance,  in- 
efficiency and  brutality  of  a  police  system  which  is  a 
disgrace  to  the  second  largest  city  of  the  world.  In  a 
city  where  the  police  tolerate  and  even  encourage  every 
form  of  vice  and  robbery  which  will  yield  them  revenue, 
I  was  assaulted  and  inhumanly  treated  before  my  name 
had  been  registered,  or  any  charge  made  against  me. 

"  Had  I  been  a  penniless  citizen  instead  of  a  man  of 
wealth,  they  would  continue  to  laugh  at  this  crime 
against  the  most  sacred  right  of  American  citizenship. 
The  criminal  police  of  this  and  other  American  cities 
incite  more  lawlessness  than  they  suppress.  They  are 
the  foundation  of  the  stupendous  edifice  of  corruption 
which  is  rearing  itself  in  this  nation.  Many  of  them — 
it  is  not  unfair  to  say  the  majority  of  them — pay  money 


A  FLASH   OF  LIGHT  347 

for  positions  and  promotions,  sure  that  blackmail  and 
toleration  of  crime  will  yield  them  tribute.  Thieves, 
murderers,  blacklegs,  gamblers,  prostitutes,  and  business 
interests  willing  and  eager  to  break  the  law — these 
are  their  customers. 

"  No  such  hideous  mockery  of  a  police  system  is  pos- 
sible in  Great  Britain  or  any  Continental  city.  If  what 
I  have  endured  will  bring  the  faintest  blush  of  shame  to 
our  people,  I  am  content.  If  they  will  take  such  meas- 
ures as  will  prevent  police  captains  in  crime  centres 
from  retiring  with  fortunes  of  from  a  hundred  thousand 
to  a  million  dollars,  I  shall  have  done  something  for  the 
country  of  my  birth. 

"  My  second  motive  was  to  hammer  one  more  nail  into 
the  coffin  of  circumstantial  evidence.  Had  I  died  from 
the  injuries  inflicted  by  Captain  Hogan  and  his  uni- 
formed brutes,  my  body  would  now  be  in  the  Potter's 
Field,  and  the  ashes  of  some  pauper  would  have  re- 
mained for  ages  in  the  vaults  of  the  Buckingham  family. 
Stanley  Deane  would  have  gone  to  the  death  chair,  as 
innocent  a  man  as  ever  foolishly  tried  to  better  the  con- 
dition of  the  working  classes.  Captain  Stark  would  have 
spent  years  in  jail,  and  that  would  have  been  the  fate  of 
my  friend  and  former  host,  '  Long  Bill '  Parker. 

"  My  third  motive  was  to  bring  into  ridicule  a  jury 
system  and  a  method  of  prosecution  which  should  have 
been  discarded  years  ago.  Other  countries  long  since 
ascertained  its  worthlessness  and  its  dangers — we  still 
cling  to  it  for  the  reason  that  in  certain  matters  of 


348  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

prejudice  and  tradition  we  are  the  most  stupid  and  un- 
progressive  people  on  the  face  of  the  earth.  There  was 
a  time  when  a  jury  was  a  protection  against  injustice 
and  tyranny,  but  we  have  succeeded  in  perpetuating 
only  its  abuses. 

"  A  juror  should  have  intelligence ;  he  should  be  a 
man  of  reading  and  one  abreast  of  his  times.  We  dis- 
qualify him  for  these  very  traits.  We  make  jury  service 
a  hardship  to  worthy  men,  and  a  perquisite  to  dullards 
and  incapables.  A  jury  of  one's  peers !  Stanley  Deane 
learns  more  in  one  week  than  the  average  jury  acquires 
in  a  lifetime !  We  drag  the  ignorance  of  an  emotional 
and  unintelligent  community  for  the  twelve  men  who 
know  the  least  of  what  men  should  know,  and  then  com- 
mission them  to  pass  on  the  question  of  life  and  death ! 

"  If  a  guilty  woman  with  a  pretty  face  smiles  at  them 
and  rustles  her  silk  skirts  in  their  ears,  no  testimony  is 
damning  enough  to  convict  her.  To  be  accepted  as  a 
juror  in  a  metropolitan  murder  trial  is  a  disgrace  from 
which  an  intelligent  and  self-respecting  man  can  never 
recover. 

"  What  does  the  prosecution  do  ?  Does  it  institute 
a  disinterested  inquiry  which  may  establish  the  guilt  or 
innocence  of  the  accused  ?  Not  at  all.  It  assumes  that 
those  charged  are  guilty.  While  pretending  to  proceed 
on  the  theory  that  a  man  is  innocent  until  he  is  proved 
guilty,  we  actually  turn  against  him  a  huge  and  often 
unscrupulous  legal  machine,  one  supplied  by  the  State 
with  unlimited  resources  in  money^  and  influence,  and 


A  FLASH  OF  LIGHT  349 

compel  this  possibly  innocent  man  to  fight  for  his  life 
against  this  terrific  handicap.  If  he  has  money  he  has 
a  chance,  and  he  may  save  his  neck  at  the  expense  of  his 
private  fortune;  if  he  has  no  money  he  may  as  well 
resign  himself  to  his  fate,  especially  if  the  case  is  of  so 
sensational  a  nature  that  a  prosecuting  attorney  or  some 
underling  may  climb  to  fame  and  private  practice  over 
a  verdict  against  him. 

"  In  this  case,  as  in  hundreds  of  others,  the  prosecu- 
tion has  advanced  arguments,  suppressed  facts,  intro- 
duced testimony,  and  taken  numberless  technical  ad- 
vantages calculated  unfairly  to  influence  the  jury  against 
the  defendants.  That  is  the  system  to  which  the  prose- 
cution has  been  educated.  Your  honor  was  familiar 
with  their  technical  plottings,  with  their  sophistries, 
tricks  and  evasions,  and  had  the  decision  rested  with 
you,  instead  of  a  jury  whom  it  was  easy  to  hoodwink 
when  anarchy  was  the  cry,  no  such  verdict  would  have 
been  handed  down. 

"  It  was  for  the  purpose  of  dealing  a  blow  at  these 
vicious  institutions  that  I  led  the  police  and  the  prose- 
cution on  this  mad  chase  over  a  false  trail.  So  as  to 
further  befog  them,  I  denied  that  my  name  was  Schlicr- 
macker,  and  let  them  assume,  from  certain  papers  found 
in  my  possession,  that  my  real  name  was  Kudolph 
Heinemann. 

"  I  beg  to  assure  your  honor  that  I  have  the  highest 
respect  for  him  and  for  his  rulings,  and  to  thank  him  for 
the  privilege  of  making  these  remarks.  I  am  guilty,  not 


350  THE  BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

of  contempt  of  his  court,  but  of  contempt  for  a  system 
of  courts  which  denies  the  people  the  benefits  of  judicial 
knowledge  and  acumen,  and  makes  of  justice  a  market- 
place for  the  employment  of  incompetents  and  the  en- 
riching of  pettifoggers." 


A  year  later  Captain  Jacob  Stark  stood  on  a  dock 
and  with  professional  interest  watched  a  great  ocean 
liner  warp  into  her  berth.  Near  him  was  William 
Parker,  and  on  his  arm  a  pretty  young  woman  whose 
bright  eyes  looked  into  his,  and  then  glanced  along  the 
cabin  decks  of  the  huge  ship  which  was  slowly  drawing 
nearer  to  them. 

"  There  they  are !  "  cried  Annieta  Fischer,  pointing 
to  a  group  of  seven  that  had  just  emerged  from  the  main 
saloon.  "  There's  Mr.  Deane — I  mean  Mr.  Morse — 
and  there's  his  wife !  Doesn't  she  look  pretty  ?  There's 
Mr.  Harkness  and  his  wife !  I  think  she  is  the  cutest 
little  thing  that  ever  lived!  There's  Captain  Morse, 
and  I'm  sure  that  nice-looking  lady  must  be  his  wife. 
They  see  us !  They  see  us !  " 

"  Ahoy,  Mascot !"  roared  Captain  Stark,  waving  his 
slouch  hat,  and  before  the  gangplank  was  shoved  ashore 
he  had  leaped  aboard  with  the  agility  of  a  youngster, 
and  made  his  way  to  the  upper  deck  two  steps  at  a  time. 

"  Bless  my  eyes !  "  he  exclaimed  to  Alice,  when  he 
had  been  presented  to  the  "  Mascot's "  mother  and 


A   FLASH  OF  LIGHT  35I 

sisters.  "  Bless  my  eyes,  but  you're  prettier  than  ever ! 
Has  Mascot  been  good  tew  ye  ?  I'll  bet  he  has !  Say 
that  he  hasn't,  little  one,  an'  overboard  he  goes !  Well, 
well,  well !  You're  both  lookin'  finer'n  silk !  Married 
life  must  just  suit  ye!  Dew  ye  see  Long  Bill  down 
there?" 

"  Isn't  that  Miss  Fischer  with  him  ?  "  asked  Alice. 

"  That's  what  it  is !  "  declared  Captain  Stark.    "  I've 
got  great  news,  great  news !  " 

"  Are  they  married  ?  "  asked  John  Morse,  and  his 
wife  echoed  the  question. 

"  N"o,  but  they're  goin'  tew  be  next  week,"  the  captain 
grinned,  nudging  Tom  Harkness  and  winking  at  Dolly. 

"  How  did  he  muster  up  courage  to  ask  her  ?  " 

"  He  didn't!  "  chuckled  Captain  Stark. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  she  asked  him  ? "  de- 
manded Alice. 

"  No,  no !  "  explained  the  captain.  "  I  asked  her ! 
That's  a  fact,  and  I'll  leave  it  to  them!  Why,  say,  if 
that  pretty  little  girl  had  waited  until  Long  Bill  got  his 
nerve  up  to  a  point  where  he  dared  ask  a  woman  tew 
marry  him,  why,  say,  she'd  'a'  caught  up  tew  him  an' 
been  older  than  he  is.  So  knowin'  that  was  the  way 
things  stood,  I  invites  them  to  take  dinner  with  me  one 
night,  and  we  sits  in  the  corner  of  a  big  restaurant  where 
nobody  will  bother  us.  When  we  are  all  feelin'  just 
right,  I  up  and  asks  Annieta  if  she  will  marry  Long 
Bill!" 


352  THE   BOTTOM   OF   THE    WELL 

"  Why,  captain !  How  did  you  dare  do  such  a  thing  ?" 
laughed  Alice  Morse. 

"  Between  us,  I  wouldn't  dared  done  it  for  myself," 
admitted  Captain  Stark,  "  but  somebody  had  tew  dew 
it  fer  Bill,  an'  I  think  a  lot  of  him,  so  I  jumped  right  in 
an'  said  it.  And  it  was  all  right  at  that.  She  didn't  say 
1  yes  '  right  then,  but  what  I  said  sorter  broke  the  ice." 

"  I  should  think  it  would,"  laughed  John  Morse. 

"They're  goin'  tew  be  married  next  week,"  announced 
Captain  Jake.  "Bill  has  sold  The  Well,  an'  I  have 
gone  in  with  him  an'  bought  a  finer  hotel.  They  are 
goin'  tew  run  it,  an'  I  have  the  best  room  in  the  house. 
You  must  come  up  an'  see  us." 

"  Of  course  we  shall,"  declared  both  of  them. 

"  There's  papa !  "  cried  Alice.  "  I  declare,  he  looks 
ten  years  younger.  John,  dear,"  pressing  her  husband's 
arm,  "  isn't  it  a  shame  that  wedding  journeys  cannot  last 
forever  ? " 


THE  END 


